


Mushroom Cloud

by Biggreenfeet



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout - Fandom, Fallout 4
Genre: Canon, Cusses, Depictions of Sex, F/M, Fluff, Game Spoilers, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, It's going to be a novel, REALLY slow, Sex, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-03 22:46:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 76,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5309903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biggreenfeet/pseuds/Biggreenfeet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A super duper slow burn F!SS/ Hancock piece that concentrates on the gradual development of Nora as she comes to accept her new life in the wasteland. Focused more on dealing with the very real feelings of grief (the game pushes a lot of that aside for the sake of gameplay, which makes sense), and the building of relationships after 200 years and the death of her husband. I wanted her to feel like a real person. </p><p>*Preface deals with prewar memories of SS (Nora)/Nate. Set to the backdrop of Sammy Salvo's "A Mushroom Cloud"</p><p>*****I will NOT be finishing Mushroom Cloud***** </p><p> I'm sorry everyone, but my passion just isn't in it any more. I have enjoyed all of your positive comments over the past few years and want to thank all of my readers! I am working on newer things. Feel free to check them out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Mushroom Cloud**

 

Inspired by: A Mushroom Cloud: Sammy Salvo [1961] 

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xTstk36-3Ak>

  
  
_I want to be happy, I want to be gay_  
I want to be normal in every way;  
But a mushroom cloud hangs over my dreams  
It haunts my future and threatens my schemes  
Peace, peace, peace where did you go?

The day Nate met Nora had been a chance encounter, the kind that could lead one to think about fate. The sunlight had obscured his vision at first, glinting in a dazzling way on her soft, shoulder-length tresses. A sharp intake of breath and they were tangled up all knees and elbows in a heap on the concrete. His face turned scarlet and he sputtered, the apology catching in his throat. He drew his eyes to her face, feeling it slide into focus in slow motion. She was _smiling_? The smile made its way to the very corner of her eyes. _Really smiling_? A giggle escaped her lips, and she adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose.

 

“Are you ok?” A soft hand was cradling his arm, twisting gently to reveal a freshly raspberried elbow.

 

He gulped for air, his brain dragging him back to the present.

 

“Oh.” Pain dawned across his face, and he winced, carefully manipulating his arm to look at the scrape.

 

“You really did a number on yourself there, kid.”

 

He snapped his head up in indignation, ready to protest but met her smiling eyes again. “I’m not-not a kid!” came the lame response.

 

She shook her head, dusting herself off, and pushing herself to her feet. A slightly dirty hand as thrust towards him, and he took it, flushing to the tops of his ears.

 

“Come _on_ , Nora! We’re going to be _late_ for the movie!” the girl looked more than impatient, and shot him a dirty look. “Why don’t _you_ watch where you’re going?” It was only once the girl acknowledged him that he became aware of Nora’s group of friends.

 

Nora rounded on her. “It’s fine- you guys go without me. I’ll-“ she paused, her tone softening. “I’ll catch up with you later.” Her gaze returned on the boy who had slammed into her, a slight color rising to her cheeks.

 

“Fine, you stay here with this- Ugh!” the girl didn’t even bother to finish her thought. “C’mon girls. We have more _interesting_ things to do than bump into strangers.” Turning on her heel with two other girls in tow they stomped off, perfect curls bouncing with each step.

 

“I’m Nora.” The image of her face seemed to come into focus more clearly than anything else around him.

 

“Nate- uh, is me.” A cough “I mean- I’m Nate.” He stuck a hand out awkwardly like his father had taught him to do. She took it with a hearty squeeze that took him by surprise.

 

“Nice to meet you, Nate.” She dropped his hand unceremoniously, and moved to sit on a bench a few strides from them. She plopped herself down digging around in her bag, mumbling to herself, “I _know_ I had a first-aid kit in here _somewhere-_ “ the fabric shuffled and shifted around. “Ah-ha!”

Her head reappeared from inside of the rucksack, clutching a small metal box with a green plus-sign on the top. Nate chuckled, a goofy grin spreading across his face. He nervously moved the dark strands of hair out of his eyes, and breathed in deeply.

 

He was taller than she had guessed when they were tangled up on the pavement. She patted the bench genially. “Let’s see about fixing up that elbow, eh?” She opened the small metal box, pulling out a bandage, ointment, and wipes.

 

He sidled in next to her, offering his elbow sheepishly. “I’m sorry about your friends-“

 

“Don’t be. I’m not.” Her eyes met his and her cheeks flushed. “I was thinking I would go with you instead. You know, if you’re not busy or anything.”

 

He winced while she wiped the dried blood from his elbow, blowing softly on the angry red skin. “I’m not busy at all!” He flushed, realizing his over exuberance.

 

“It’s a date then,” she’d finished wrapping his elbow, and offered her hand to him, standing up.

 

His gaze travelled from her hand, up her arm, and to the warm smile she’d been flashing at him for what seemed like hours. “A date… then.”

 

  
_I've got me a sweetheart and I love her, too_  
We want to make big plans but what can we do?  
When a mushroom cloud has changed every rule  
It's deepened our thinking at home and at school  
Peace, peace, peace where did you go?

“Yes! YES!” she threw her arms around her husband-to-be, a giant grin on her face. “I knew you were going to ask- you thought you had me fooled but I could tell you were up to something!”

 

Nate chuckled, shaking his head. She always knew how to read him- he was like a dog-eared, well-loved novel. “I love you- with all my heart.” He hugged her around the waist and lifted her off the ground, spinning her in a quick circle. She whooped in delight, and leaned up to kiss him.

 

He’d grown from a scrawny, gawky teenager into a handsome, self-assured man. The military had helped him fill out and gain the self-confidence he had scrambled to find in his awkward high school years. She couldn’t be more proud of him and all he had accomplished, though she hated admitting that the military had played a part in it.

 

“Hey,” he cupped her chin with one meaty hand, and she leaned her face into it, catching the scent of his aftershave. “You ok?”

 

A single tear rolled down her cheek, running into the chasm created by his hand against her face. She fought the urge to wipe it away, and sniffed softly. “You’re not allowed to die, ok?” Her mouth was soft, but her eyes were hard- if she said it with enough conviction, the universe would have to obey. He would obey anyway, because that was how they worked- Nora was the boss. It didn’t matter that he was physically tougher, she was the source of his strength. She always had been.

 

Using a thumb, he wiped the traces of the moisture from her face. With his free hand, he saluted. “Yes ma’am!” He smiled gently, kissing her mouth. Her eyes closed, and she savored the kiss. They hugged each other tightly, almost frantically.

 

“I love you Nate.”

 

He released her and met her eyes, betraying the sadness and fear he had almost managed to conquer. “Give me your hand.” It is a gentle command, and Nora places a hand in his. He’s surprised to feel the shaking, and squeezes her hand reassuringly with one, slipping the gold band onto her finger with the other.

 

“I’m not taking this off until you get back and marry me, you know.” She holds a hand up, admiring the simple band, eyes flicking back to meet his.

 

“I know.” He bends down to retrieve the green cylindrical luggage staring at it for a moment, his eyes tracing the curves and planes of its surface. “I’ll come back to you. I’ll always come back to you.”

 

The loudspeaker overhead breaks the reverie of the moment for both of them.

 

“Infantrymen, this is your last call. Last call for the one-oh-eight!”

 

Panic wells up in her stomach, threatening to erupt. _I’m not ready. I can’t just let him leave- what if he doesn’t-_

A strong hand rests on her lower back. He moves into her, resting his chin lightly on the top of her head. “I’m going to be strong for you.” _For both of us_.

 

Her arms wrap around him haphazardly, squeezing tightly. “ _I’ll always come back to you.”_ It echoes in her mind, and she leans up to find his mouth, cupping his face in strong, sure hands. “I’ll see you soon.” She leans up to kiss him with every ounce of herself, without a care for the people around them. _He’s coming back. He’s going to be ok._

 

“I love you,” they chime in unison, both chuckling in spite of themselves. He turns to walk towards the train, holding her hand as long as he can and releasing it with a final backward glance.

 

“With all my heart,” he mouths, crossing his chest with an index finger, and disappearing onto the crowded train car.

 

There is a roar in her ears as the train groans forward, carrying the 108th Infantry Regiment and her fiancée to war. She stands on the platform, hugging herself tightly and biting her lip to keep from crying. Unshed tears well in her eyes and she furiously blinks them away, watching until long after the lights of the train have disappeared into the black depths of the tunnel.

 

  
_We prayed, we partied, we laughed and we pray again  
And we prayed, too and tried not to think of the mess we're in_

 

She had been ecstatic when Nate had returned from the war. He’d promised to come back and managed to make good on that promise. _Some of them never got the chance_ …

 

She shuddered, holding her new husband tightly to her and whispering naughty things in his ear while they made their way across the dance hall. He flushed to his ears, and puled her tighter to him, lifting her into a kiss. Their guests clapped and mumbled in hushed tones across the room.

 

“Did you ever see a love like that?”

 

“They’re such a _handsome_ couple!”

 

“Did you get a look at her dress? Bet that cost a pretty penny!”

 

Neither of them heard a word, both of them too excited to get to their own private after party. The band leader tapped the mic, breaking the spell.

 

“Ladies and gentleman I want everyone to take a look at the double doors in the back of the room,” he pulled his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, waggling his eyebrows at the wedding party. “Here comes… the cake!” With a downward motion of his hand, a drumroll sounded. A giant cart was pushed through the doors, topped with the most enormous and intricately decorated cake most of them had ever seen.

 

Her eyes lit up, and Nate met her gaze, looking unbelievably handsome in his tux. “I love you” he mouthed. “With all my heart” she mouthed back, crossing her chest with her finger.

 

The cake server cut through the soft layers easily, Nate and Nora both holding the tool. She giggled, flashing him a sideways glance. He noticed too late that she’d grabbed a fistful of cake, and it was headed straight for the mouth-region of his face. He managed a “No!” before the sugary mass made contact, both of them fighting fits of laughter.

 

He retaliated, snatching a small crumble with his fingers, and dragging it across her mouth. She caught his hand, making as if to kiss it, and licked a finger temptingly. The red had reached his ears again, and without a word, he snatched her up and marched unceremoniously out of the reception hall with his bride in his arms, both smiling and meeting each other’s less-than-wholesome gaze.

 

“You ready to go to bed, Wife?” His eyebrow was cocked the same way it had been the day he’d gotten home from the war. She breathed in heavily, feeling a heat crawl up her cheeks. Do with me what you will, Husband.” He buried his face in her neck, leaving a trail of kisses. He’d had to set her down to fumble with the door key, but they’d laughed and she’d taken his hand, dragging him into the suite with a dangerous look in her eye.

  
  
_I cling to my baby and she clings to me_  
We talk of the future, but what do we see?  
There's a mushroom cloud that hangs in the way  
Tomorrow looks black so we live for today  
Peace, peace, peace where did you go?  
Peace, peace, peace where did you go?

“The apocalypse? Well hell, sign me up!”

 

“Haha. Now that’s the spirit. Now let’s see…” The Vault salesman flips through the paperwork on his clipboard. “Wonderful! That’s…everything… Just gonna walk this over to the Vault. Congratulations on being prepared for the future!”

 

She’s in Shaun’s room, and Nate is there. They’re smiling- talking about a trip to the park. Shaun giggles, watching the red and silver rocket ship make laps above him.

 

“Sir, Mum. I think you should come see this!” Codsworth is frantic. Nora and Nate rush down the hallway to their living room, the broadcast

 

“Followed by, yes… followed by flashes…Blinding flashes. Sounds of explosions… We’re… we’re trying to get confirmation…” She can hear blood pumping in her ears, her fists clenching and unclenching.

 

“Confirmed…yes, confirmed reports of nuclear detonations in New York and Pennsylvania.” _Shaun-_

 

It’s the only thing she has to think about. She turns to Nate “We have to get to the Vault. _Now_.” To her relief, he’s already grabbed Shaun. Nora rips the door open, and glances back at Codsworth. _You have to get your family to safety._ The sound of a Vertibird screams overhead and everything is a roar. She feels a strong hand on her arm as they stop at a wire fence.

 

They aren’t letting everyone in- but _they_ are on the list. She barks names at them, panic starting to take hold of her guts.

 

“We’re going to get to the Vault, Nora.” His eyes are calmer than she expects. _Millitary training must’ve taken over_.

 

The guard at the fence yells at them to keep moving and they run to a giant, circular platform. An officer runs along ahead of them, another waving Vault dwellers in the right direction. A group of 6 of the neighbors share the space with them, an individual look of terror on each of their faces.

 

“All right, send them down!” the words barely register in her ears. She meets Nate’s eyes again. He takes her hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

 

“Almost there.” She finds her voice again. “Shaun ok?”

 

“He’s fine. We’re gonna be ok. I love you.” A hot white light blasts behind Nate far in the distance. The group as a whole ducks and covers in one swift motion.

 

“Get this thing down NOW!” an officer shouts. Nora can see the debris kicked up by the shockwave as she sneaks a glance from under her arm.

 

“Can’t this thing go any faster?!” someone yelps.

 

The elevator finally reaches the bottom with a resounding boom, and a voice greets them, asking for order. She barely registers anything as a vault suit is shoved into her arms, keeping her focus on Nate and Shaun. _He’s such a trooper- not even crying_. She smiles in spite of the horror, and they follow the group to another room filled with- _what the hell are those things?_

 

A doctor shoos her towards a pod, instructing her to get into her vault suit. Without a second thought, she pulls her sweater and trousers off, stepping into the heavy canvas coveralls. The zipper whines its way up, and she looks to Nate and Shaun.

 

“I love you,” she blurts, making to walk towards them, but the doctor stops her, turning her back towards the pod. She doesn’t hear what he says, keeping her eyes on her husband and son as their respective doors close in sync with one another. Nate lays an oversized hand on the glass, and mouths “With all my heart,” making the familiar crossing motion over his chest.

 

She hears the hissing of gas, and her eyes are instantly drooping, her body going limp.

 

“I love- Nate-“ her voice drifts off as her head and shoulders slump forward.

 

Its as if someone is whispering.

 

“Procedure complete. In 5…4…3…2…1…”


	2. Civilization (Bongo Bongo Bongo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter where we meet Nora.

Chapter Two: Civilization (Bongo, Bongo, Bongo)

The sunlight was blinding white and hot on her clammy skin. The 10mm pistol clattered to the ground, falling from shaky hands. Her body heaved without consent, and she turned to retch, tasting the acidic burn of bile. She spat forcefully, sinking to her knees and cradling her head in her hands.

 

_Shaun- Nate-_

Sirens still bounced between her ears, seeming to echo from the Vault below. _A tomb._ _Nate’s tomb. He was-_ she shuddered, pulling the coveralls tight around herself, shivering in spite of the heat. _Dead. He was dead._

 

An arm automatically went to her mouth, wiping away spittle. She might have felt disgusted if she’d been able to feel anything at all. Unfocused eyes found the small stain of vomit on the blue steel, eventually travelling back to the pistol she had dropped. _You’re going to need that. There are giant roaches-_ She sucked a breath through her teeth, and ripped the gun from the ground, digging absently in a pocket for the bullets she’d hastily swiped.

 

_A heavy wooden desk set in a semi circle. A terminal had hummed to life at the tap of a key, and she’d barely registered opening the Overseer’s tunnel. The doors had opened with a hiss, and she’d grabbed the gun and the ammo, the overwhelming urge to run pressing her forward, good sense holding the panic down. Every sound was a roar. The roaches had snapped at her, hungrily. She’d shot more bullets than she should have, but the fear was threatening to overwhelm her._

She shook her head to shut out the noise. “Enough.” The command echoed across the landscape, blown away on a hot breeze. _Something has to be alive out here- I can’t be the only living soul left._

 

Flashes of the panicked run to the Vault. _They’d leapt over rocks, climbing and panting. Nate held Shaun tightly, stepping with sure feet over the uneven ground. She would run ahead, scanning quickly and meeting his eyes as if to say “It’s safe.”_

She screwed up her eyes, trying to place the path. Everything was familiar but entirely foreign at the same time. The directions clicked in her mind, and her feet found sure footing once again, descending the rocky hillside towards the remains of her home. A small wooden bridge passed over a long-dry creek bed. _Amazing. It’s still intact_. The thought floated, unbidden, and she felt a small wave of guilt crawled over her gut. _What about your son? Your husband?_ She batted a hand in front of her face, trying to physically wave away the searing voice in her head.

 

The rocks made way for hills, and Nora picked out the skeletal structure of a house closest to her. Her feet stepped surely on the even ground, and she found herself standing on the warped asphalt of her street. The Pip-Boy hugging her wrist made a sound. She feigned a glance at it, skimming the message. _Radio stations- someone’s out there._

 

Muscle memory carried trudging boots towards her home. Houses appeared to come in two conditions: completely ruined or dilapidated. She gawked at the long-standing walls, her brain trying to calculate how they were still there. _What’s left?_ The mailboxes dotted the roadside rusted and grimy. _Everything_ was rusted and grimy. A familiar voice snapped her from her thoughts.

 

“As I live and breathe…” the sun reflected off of the stainless steel chassis, “It’s…it’s REALLY you!” His arms seemed to twist and writhe with happiness.

 

Words fell from her mouth but none registered in her brain. She was numb to it all, flashes of a past life in her eyes. _Nate’s smile. Shaun’s gentle cooing while she stroked his dark curls._

 

Her heart fell to the pit of her stomach.

 

“Perhaps sir can offer you one of those hugs you humans are so fond of? Speaking of which, where is your better half?” If the robot could have smiled, it might have made her feel sicker.

 

“They…they killed him.” Her head dropped, knees threatening to buckle.

 

Codsworth was asking about Shaun. _Shaun-_ she felt phantom limbs reaching out to hold her child, and an empty aching in her chest.

 

“Shaun’s been kidnapped. But I’m going to find him. I’m going to get my baby back.” There was an edge to her voice as she said it, and her trembling had stopped. _Sheer force of will_. A distant memory of men in metal suits floated to the surface, disappearing as just as quickly.

 

“Its worse than I thought. Hmm hmm. You’re suffering from… hunger induced paranoia. Not eating properly for 200 years will do that, I’m afraid.”

 

It was as if someone had pulled the ground out from under her like a rug. Her head spun, eyes scanning the ruined buildings. “No. No, that’s not possible. I wasn’t out that long…” her eyes came to rest on the sun-bleached timbers of her home that confirmed what she could not accept. “Not 200 years…”

 

“A bit over 210 actually, mum.” The metallic butler continued, his body gently bobbing two feet off the ground. “…That means you’re two centuries late for dinner.” His laughter was tinny, and crawled under her skin. _Inappropriate-_

 

She had wanted to rage at the joke, but something dawned on her. _Something is off…_ Nora looked at the robot. The chromed steel that had once shone like polished silver had worn off in places. The bits on his tools looked rusted, worn out. He even hovered more heavily if such a thing was possible. “Codsworth, you’re acting…a little bit weird. What’s wrong?”

 

“I…I,” his voice faultered. “Oh mum, it’s just been horrible! Two centuries with no one to talk to, no one to _serve_.” If robots could have been programmed to cry, crocodile tears would have splashed to the floor. Instead, he continued, “I spent the first ten _years_ trying to keep the floors waxed, but nothing gets out nuclear fallout from vinyl wood. _Nothing_! And don’t get me started on the futility of dusting a collapsed house-“ he was close to hysterics.

 

“Stay with me, Codsworth.” She felt a pang of remorse for leaving the robot behind. The memory flashed in front of her eyes in slow motion. _She and Nate ran for the door, her hair twisting in front of her eyes as she cast a last glance back at the robot. A sadness had tugged at her despite the events unfurling before them at leaving the robo-butler behind. He was like family, even if someone had programmed him to be that way._

“..I thought for certain you and your family were…dead.” His limbs spun and gyrated producing a plastic orange rectangle from somewhere on his body and thrusting it towards her. “I did find this holotape. I believe sir was going to present it to you. As a surprise. But then, well… everything _happened_.”

 

“Thank you, Codsworth.” Nora smiled gently at the robot, rubbing her fingers over the groves of the tape, letting it disappear into a pocket. It clicked lightly against a small, round object. _She remembered the glint of the gold on his finger after throwing the switch to the cryopod and forcing her way to him. She’d cried out, her hands covering an agape mouth, trying to stifle the noise._

She fingered the ring absentmindedly, feeling lost.

 

“Now, enough feeling sorry for myself.” Codsworth’s English lilt brought her back to the present. He was bumping her gently, asking her to take a look around the neighborhood with him.

 

Part of her brain wanted to rebel- _those are-were- peoples’ homes._ Her growling stomach interrupted the train of thought. She brought a hand to her middle, feeling the looseness of the coveralls. She’d lost some body mass over the past 200 years, and found her body had emerged from cryosleep hungry.

 

Her solid boot steps echoed through the abandoned neighborhood as she followed the silver figure down the block.

 

***

 

The sun hung slightly lower in the sky than when the pair had started. Nora found her pockets full of random nothings that they had managed to scrounge from the skeletal remains of her home. They had since split up to cover more ground, and she found herself eyeing the bridge over the water.

 

 _There used to be a gas station past the bridge a ways- maybe there’s something left inside_. She licked her lips, finding them dry and beginning to crack. The sun was hot on her back, and she felt sweat rolling down her spine. Her mouth felt like a desert. _There has to be something up there_. She willed herself forward towards the water, not trusting a 200-year-old bridge. _What’s the worst that would happen? You’d just die._ She pushed the voice to the back of her mind, grunting and pressing forward through the surprisingly cold water.

 

The tell-tale outline of a Red Rocket peeked over the horizon, and Nora smiled in spite of herself. She trudged up the hill, her boots making wet clucking sounds with each step. There would be blisters later, but she screwed her face into a determined grimace. _I’m not going back until I check the gas station._

 

“Just put one foot in front of the other.” her voice was foreign.

 

Abandoned cars littered the streets, relics of a time long since passed. She let her thoughts drift back in time.

 

 _“The wheel- grip the wheel at ten and two!” The heavy scent of new leather permeated her nose, and she smiled at the boy strapped into the passenger seat. She loved making him nervous, watching him run a hand through dark locks, playing it cool. She flexed her hands against the wheel, sliding them to the appropriate positions, cocking an eyebrow and meeting him with a smile. He fumbled with the comb in his pocket running it cooly through his hair. “Don’t worry- I won’t let you die on my watch.”_ The ancient laughter echoed through her ears, and she rubbed her eyes, focusing on the shape moving around the defunct gas station.

 

“What the hell _is_ that?” Squinting, and placing a hand to her brow, she sucked in a breath. “Is that… a _dog_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read this and enjoyed it, thank you! It makes my heart happy. I am not shying away from this being a long-haul kind of deal. Feel free to leave constructive feedback, and again, thanks for reading!


	3. The World Doesn’t Have to be Ugly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Nora gets the power armor.  
> Oh my god its really long. Sorry.

**Chapter 3: The World Doesn’t Have to be Ugly**

 

“What about Concord, mum? Plenty of people there. And last I checked, they only pummeled me with sticks a few times before I had to run home.”

 

She sat in a battered kitchen chair, with an arm on the matching table, the green Pip-Boy screen burning into her eyes while she studied the map. The rucksack they’d managed to pull out of a dumpster at the Red Rocket had been packed for the past two days, but Nora had needed to rest and replenish- _Codsworth’s orders_. She tapped the screen again, making mental calculations, and pulling her hair away from her face with an irritated hiss of breath.

 

200 years of sleeping on one’s hair caused an unnatural amount of matting, and she had hacked away at it with found scissors overzealously. It now hung around her face, falling into her eyes when she tilted her head forward. She had tried to be careful, standing in front of a cracked mirror while clumps of hair rained towards the floor. It might have been cooler, but it was not a pretty sight. _If Nate could see this-_ her face twisted, and the thought was dropped.

 

A furry muzzle pressed at her arm, begging scraps from the table with a soft ‘woof’. One side of her mouth lifted ever so slightly. Nora had felt like her head was underwater since settling into the remains of her former dream home. If she slept, she would wake to nightmares of Nate and Shaun. Since stumbling upon the dog, her mind had begun to clear. She had stepped away from her autopilot setting, and her resolve began to congeal like cooling lava- surface first, hardening to the inside.

 

 _Plenty of people there…_ She turned the words over in her mind. _People_. She hadn’t seen another human being in 200 years. _No, that’s not quite right- what about the man who killed Nate? How long ago had that happened?_ She forced herself to drum up an image of him in her mind. _Tall, dark hair, but thinning. He’d had some kind of revolver- powerful. Black leather. A bulbous metal piece over his shoulder- some kind of armor. What had he called her? The backup? Backup for what?_

 

A yip pulled her away from her ruminations. A small wave of relief washed over her- he’d shut down her detail-oriented “lawyer brain” before it could run away with her. “Hungry boy?” A soft yip, and she placed what was left of the Salisbury steak meal on the floor for the beast. His fur was thick and soft, and petting him had turned into a reflexive habit. It soothed her to run her fingers through his pelt, and some of her anxiety seemed to melt away.

 

It wasn’t surprising- she’d read studies about therapy dogs for a case during her internship. The firm had represented a woman who claimed to be exempt from the expensive pet fees at her apartment because her dog provided a medical service. The victory had been satisfying to Nora, who had been responsible for building a strong case against the landlord. Her intellect and attention to detail had swept through the prosecution’s defenses. The whole office had gone out drinking that night and she’d had to be carried up the stairs by the doorman, much to her parents’ chagrin.

 

 _Where did that Nora go?_ _Was she ever coming back?_

 

It was decided then and there. The sun was climbing the sky, and the temperature had begun to rise. It was now or never for Nora to depart. Dog seemed eager to move out, and she could almost swear the animal was smiling.

 

“Codsworth- I…,” she wasn’t used to tripping over her words. “Thank you.”

 

“Good luck mum. You’ll find young Shaun. I know you will.” The robot bobbed in the air. “ I will remain here and secure the homefront!” Without a backward glance, he had floated out the front door, leaving her and Dog to each other.

 

***

The town of Concord was only another mile up the road past the Red Rocket. From a distance, everything was quiet. A warm breeze blew across the streets sending dead leaves and trash skittering across the main drag. Dog’s ears were twitchy, rotating constantly. Nora was aware of the quiet. _Unnaturally quiet- even for a post-apocalyptic wasteland._ Her eyes scanned the streets and buildings with every step, gripping her pistol with both hands.

 

“What’s the matter boy, you smell somethin’?” The dog acquiesced with a low woof. The hairs on both of their necks were standing on end. Gunshots sounded in the distance.

 

 _I knew it!_ The blue jumpsuit disappeared behind a burned out Corvega. Her instincts were hammering in her brain, screaming at her to turn around and go back, but Nora was determined. _I have to know what’s out here. I have to find some answers._ Her brows were knit together, while she squinted looking for movement ahead of them. Light popping noises seemed to drift around the corner. _More gunfire_. She looked back to Dog, nodding. He understood, and stayed close to her side as she sidled past another car, jogging forward. Makeshift sandbag forts jutted into the center of the street from both side of the curb, an improvised labyrinth.

 

Movement in the corner of her right eye. _Shit._ There were two of them, shouting at the building that dead-ended the street. _The Museum of Freedom_. She vaguely remembered taking the brief tour through the place and something about red-coat mannequins and really bad dialogue.

 

“Hey!” a decidedly masculine shout, and gunfire whizzed past her head. She instinctively fell into a crouch, jerking her head up to figure out who was firing. She didn’t know how they’d noticed her, but they had. Her whole body was fight-or-flight. Time seemed to slow as they charged her, repeatedly firing in her general direction. The bullets pinged off of wood and metal, none of them making contact with flesh. Everything was a blur as Dog ran off and lunged forward, ripping at the wrist of the gun-toting cut-throat. The other trained his attack on Nora, rushing forward with a rusted tire-iron in his grip. It was then that she noticed the orange flames licking out from under the ancient truck hood several paces to her right. _Nuclear engine. Those cars have_ nuclear _engines!_   She held her ground, waving her fists towards her body.

 

“You want some?! Come get some!” the taunt was guttural, and animalistic. _Come on, fucker. Just a little more…_

 

He managed to read the bright yellow 111 on her jumpsuit as she threw herself forward, running the opposite direction. The fiend’s eyes grew wide with fear as he registered the flames. The blast was deafening, and threw the woman’s body forward like a rag doll. She hit the ground hard, the air forced from her lungs. The raider wasn’t so fortunate.

 

Her ears rang, vision blurry. She was underwater again, grasping for air. It rushed in all at once- burnt flesh and ozone. Heat radiated out from the truck’s burning skeleton, and she held up a bloody hand to shield her face.

 

 _The dog. The gun-_ she followed the blurry double yellow, spotting the pistol. It hadn’t managed to fly very far from her grasp, and she stumbled over, retrieving it from beside the curb. She blinked hard, squinting back towards the museum.

 

“Dog?” a dark blob moved towards her, irregularly. She smashed the back of her hand against each eye socket to clear her vision. The beast dropped a severed hand at her feet with a happy bark. She fell awkwardly back on her haunches, breathing heavily and running her hands through the thick fur of his coat. He sat next to her, panting and wagging his tail.

 

“Good dog,” was all she could manage.

 

***

It seemed ironic to be fighting for her life a to a recording of _Glory, Glory Hallelujah_ , but there it was, filtering into her ears between the sound of gunfire. Every nerve was alight, shooting her body and limbs forward, guiding an itchy trigger finger.

 

They’d stopped into the museum, hoping to find supplies. Fingers shaking, she’d pulled on the protective gear salvaged from the handless body in the square, swallowing down the vomit that threatened to erupt. He’d dropped a double barrel shotgun and a few shells had been warm in his pockets. The worn leather holster she’d strapped to her hip and thigh with some effort, the pistol finding it’s home on her right leg. They’d been on the street for over an hour with no movement, and she figured the raiders had just been passing through.

 

 _Stupid!_ She chided herself for being foolish enough to assume. Dog had once again leapt into the fray, going for the throat of the less-intimidating opponent. Nora was almost thankful for the man in front of her serving as a distraction from the wet gurgling behind them. He caught her by the hair and slammed a knee into her gut. She floundered, the wind knocked out of her for a second time that day. _Pain! Can’t breathe!_

She was on the floor, the pistol sliding along the rotting baseboard. Her body moved of its own accord, self-preservation kicking in. A worn leather boot rose above her head, closing in and she twisted, lifting her back off the floor- _Pop! Pop!_ Two holes smoked in his chest as he keeled over backwards. Horrified, she forced herself away from him, away from ugly death. _He’s dead._ She didn’t have to feel his pulse to know the truth, his eyes were enough.

 

She rose slowly, the adrenaline making her shaky, dizzy. The scene of the man’s shocked expression played on repeat behind her eyes as she mechanically collected what she could from his warm corpse. Sheer force of will pushed her forward. There wasn’t a steady flow of supplies in the old neighborhood. _Everyone’s dead_. _It was necessary. A mantra for the new age._   She grimaced, a bitter taste in her mouth.

 

Dog caught a whiff of something, and cantered forward without warning.

 

“Boy!” It was loud. “ _Come back here!_ ” she hissed, patting at her knees. She shuffled after him, throwing a glance over her shoulder at the carnage they’d left in their wake. The pack had suddenly become heavy on her back, and she was aware of the dull throbbing in middle of her body.

 

An alert bark sounded from down the hallway, and she could make out voices. Fear welled up inside her chest, but her face betrayed nothing. _The dog. I can’t lose the dog._ Boot steps quickened, and the sound of the voices sharpened.

 

“Well look who it is? The prodigal hound returns!” There was something comforting about the deep cadence of his words. _They know the dog?_

 

With a whine, the dog paced in front of the man. “What? You find somethin’?

 

With a deep breath, Nora stepped into the doorway. “Yeah. He found me.” She held the pistol firmly, tracing the features of his face with a cocked brow. One of Nora’s best traits was the ability to read people. The natural talent had been honed and enhanced by her law career, turning the tables on several important cases… _Once upon a time_.

 

The man wore a ridiculous hat and leather duster. The vest underneath was brocade, and seemed completely out of place at the end of the world.

 

“Man, I don’t know who you are but your timing is impeccable: Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen.” His smile was warm.

“Minutemen? So now I’m travelling _backward_ in time.” It felt good to speak her mind.

 

“Protect people at a minute’s notice- that was the idea. So I joined up, wanting to make a difference. And I did, but…things fell apart” he scratched the back of his head, dropping his gaze for an instant. “Now it looks like I’m the last Minutemen left standing.”

 

 _The last standing…_ He had a trustworthy face, and an easygoing manner about him. The people behind him looked travel-weary, not battle hardened. No one else seemed to be carrying a weapon, and they looked her up and down fearfully.

 

She exhaled a deep breath she’d been holding, holstering the pistol carefully. “Who are these people?”

 

“Just folks looking for a new home. A fresh start.” Sadness creased his brow, and he paused, starting again quietly. “A month ago there were 20 of us. Yesterday there were 8. Now we’re 5.”

 

He gestured to the strangers, compassion touching his voice. He reminded her of Nate, the way he wanted to help others- those who couldn’t help themselves.

 

“It’s just me, the Longs- Marcy and Jun-“ he gestured to each in turn, “That’s old Mama Murphy on the couch, and this here’s Sturges.” He gave the man’s broad shoulder a pat.

 

“Nora.” She shifted on her feet, trying to stand comfortably.

 

“Well Nora,” Preston’s eyes were hopeful, “we have an idea of how we’re gonna make it out of this town. All we need is an extra pair of hands.”

 

The instant trust made her feel lighter, like the ruined world didn’t have to such an ugly place. She smiled, meeting his dark eyes. “Will it be enough? To stop those maniacs?”

 

“Sturges? Tell her.”

 

***

 

 _Power armor?_ She let her mind drift to Nate, all suited up sans helmet. Her first impression: it made him so much taller! The steel casing was solid, impressive. The second filled her with dread: _what kind of war required that kind of armored protection_?

 

The lock fought the bobby pin while her fingers wiggled and twisted the black metal object, turning the cylinder with a scavenged flathead. “Come _on!_ ” she cursed silently as it snapped, using her fingernails to pull the remaining half from the tumbler. _It was so much easier when I was sneaking into mom and dad’s cabinets_. She chuckled in spite of her surroundings, remembering the trouble that always followed her teenaged snooping and sneaking. It felt like a lifetime away.

 

The lock clicked, and the gate swung open, knocking against the fence and vibrating metallically. There it was, just like the two men had said- the fusion core. She’d tugged with a good amount of arm strength to remove it. The nuclear battery was heavier than she’d imagined. It was warm, not quite hot to the touch. Somewhere a voice in the back of her mind mumbled something about radiation, but she’d quickly brushed it aside. The power armor was waiting.

 

_How long has it stood there, waiting to be awoken? Was it better to leave it asleep?_

 

Thumping footsteps made their way to the top of the building step by step. It was like a fever dream. _The wasteland, Preston and his crazy Minuteman getup, her in power armor_? She willed herself to wake, knowing that it wouldn’t help. _If I can do some good here, I will. The whole world can’t be ugly._

She pushed the door to the Commonwealth open, and there it was. The elements had not been unkind to it, the metal plating discolored, but intact on most of the limbs. Sturges had shown her the slot for the fusion core. “Just punch it right in there,” he’d said with a wink, gesturing to the fist-sized hole in the back of the suit.

 

 _Punch it in was right_ she thought, jamming the bright yellow capsule into the hole. The click was satisfying.

 

“Now we just,” a grunt, “Turn. This. Thing.” Nora heaved the wheel to the left, and the armor burst open, the hydraulics hissing in protest. “Cool.” The reaction surprised her, and she blew air through pursed lips, wiping the sweat beading her brow. A sense of pride welled up inside her, pushing down the fear. _Get in the armor and get the minigun._

 

It was surreal: the armor was heavy, but moved easily at the slightest suggestion. It moved _with her_ , enveloping her without weighing her down. She twisted her head from side to side, testing her range of vision. The sun bounced off of the rounded planes, and she lifted one foot, then another stepping towards the mounted death machine.

 

“ _Protection with an added bonus!”_ Sturges couldn’t contain his excitement while explaining the plan to her. “ _Just aim it at the bad guys and do the ol’ spray-and-pray.”_

 

“The ol’ spray and pray…” armored hands ripped the minigun from its post feeling lighter than she knew it was. She knew at that moment the small band was waiting for the all clear, while Preston used the second floor balcony on the front of the battered museum as a crow’s nest, picking off the handful of raiders.

 

“ _Careful kid,”_ Momma Murphy’s voice had sounded far away, her eyes milky white. _“There’s somethin’ comin’. And it’s angry.”_

Nora hefted the minigun with both hands, stepping surely around the destroyed parts of the roof to peer over the edge. An ancient fear flooded her guts as she looked down from the unsecured edge of the rooftop. _It’s a loooong way down._

She could hear Preston’s voice carrying through the square from his perch. “There you are!” Magenta-colored beams shot out from the wall, clipping down a handful of charging raiders.

 

“We got one up here!” came the shout from the crosswise rooftop. She guessed at aiming, watching the bullets shower across the empty space, mowing the man down where he stood. More shouting came from below as more raiders seeped out of the buildings like angry radroaches.

 

_There’s too many. Preston can’t take them all down before they break through-_

The barrels were whirring again, raining lead down on the malicious crowd below. Fewer were falling than she had anticipated, and she moved her finger from the trigger.

 

“ _Once the ammo is out, its out. There’s only so much we could scrounge up.”_ Sturges’ tone had been matter-of-fact. _“Make it count_.”

 

She took a deep breath and looked at the ground. _Millitary issued, American power armor can withstand-_ Nora shook her head, willing the newsreel to finish replaying in her mind. Her stomach lurched at the height and the infringing crowd of leather-clad crazies.

 

“Here goes nothing…” she bent at the knees and jumped from the edge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the Kudos. I grin like an idiot when I see them. Also, thanks to those of you who left comments. It means a lot to me :)


	4. Animal Instincts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where she fights in power armor.

Chapter 4: Animal Instincts

 

The landing was bone-jarring and the sound it made was deafening. Nora’s teeth rattled inside her head, and she huffed a heavy breath. Red beams and bullets zipped past her through the cloud of dust, a few sizzling against the armor plating. Bringing the silver beast to her hip, she squeezed the minigun’s trigger aiming in the general direction of the blasts. The dust blew further down the street, and her blood froze at the heap of bodies, dead limbs a jumbled mess. It had been satisfying and sickening all at once.

 

“I got one!” Preston’s voice carried down to the square, breaking her stare. “Looks like we got ‘em on the run!” He whooped like an oversized child. “Great job, Nora! Great-” He stopped mid-sentence.

 

She cocked her head at the Minuteman in alarm. His eyes were wide with fear, mouth agape and sputtering. His hands fumbled with the rifle, his gaze locked on something in the distance. She heard the Deathclaw before she saw it.

 

The ear-splitting roar rumbled its way down the street. It’s tail, all muscle, writhed with the rest of its body back and forth as it prowled the street. Great, sharp horns swung out from either side of its leathery head. A slimy tongue licked at snapping chops. The monster had to be at least 10 feet tall. _What the fuck is that thing? Where did it come from?!_ Panic rose from her guts to her chest to her tightening throat. _Oh God, oh God!_ The howitzer fell from her grasp with a dense _clunk_ that echoed throughout the square. Glowing yellow eyes scrutinized her form, and the creature sprang forward, its movement serpentine.

 

“Preston-What do I do?! How do I-” She was shouting, on the edge of hysterics as the undulating dinosaur stalked towards her.

 

“Pick up the gun! Shoot it!” he spoke from the diaphragm, direct and steady. His eyes were hard.

 

Heavily armored hands grasped forward, groping for the weapon. She couldn’t take her eyes off of the beast. It was nearly upon her now, and her gaze turned upward taking in the full size of the thing. Nora was about to meet her fate.

 

Her hands closed around the handles and she pulled the behemoth to her hip with every ounce of strength she had. The sound of the spinning barrel was drowned out by another hideous roar as hot bullets sliced through the early evening air, ripping into the creature’s abdomen. Magenta beams of light sizzled into its thick hide from the balcony. The Deathclaw reared back, its gigantic claws raking against the armor and toppling the novice soldier. The minigun was sent clattering across the pavement, skipping and rolling over like a child’s toy. With another furious roar it took a giant step forward, pinning Nora and the armor under an immoveable foot. Magenta continued to streak across the sky, but to no avail. The beast had caught what it was after.

 

Stars danced across her vision. Time slowed, and she watched as a thick limb drew back, springing forward like an angry trap. Pieces of the armor splintered, flying in every direction. She was dully aware of pain and a wet sensation in her left arm…

 

_He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me and I’ll never find Shaun_ … She fought to stay conscious, eyes rolling to the back of her head. Her dead husband’s face floated before her looking angry. “Get up!” Nate was shouting at her and shaking her by the shoulders. _What’s the point?_ Everything was a haze. “Nora, you have to get up!” The shaking was getting more violent. “You’re going to die if you don’t get up!” Steel-colored irises rolled forward, a set of long, angry teeth right coming into focus. She gasped for breath and threw her arms forward taking the giant reptilian foe by surprise. It toppled from her, its demonic horns scraping the pavement as its heavy body made contact.

 

Operating on animal instinct, she pulled her body forward into an awkward gait, running for the only weapon capable of taking down the monster. Nora tripped towards the minigun, the plating on her knees kicking up sparks as she slid across pavement. Scooping the handles into her grip, hellfire was unleashed on the recovering beast. The barrels glowed red hot, spitting angry projectiles into the side of the Deathclaw. It screamed in agony and surged forward, the light going out of its eyes.

 

Nora held the trigger until the drum was empty.

 

***

She squinted her eyes, adjusting to the sunlight winking through cracks in ceiling. _Too bright._ Pain rippled through her bicep and shoulder as she brought an arm up to shield her eyes. A gentle whine sounded in her ear, and she turned her head making out the backlit shape of Dog. _What had the old woman called him? Dog-something. Dog bone?_ Her nose wrinkled. _That’s not it._

 

“Dogmeat?” her voice was hoarse and her throat felt like sandpaper.

 

He wagged his tail, licking her face. Her face contorted in pain from moving her bad arm to stop him. “I’m ok- really. Just stop licking me.” A firm pat on his head with her good hand seemed to put the dog at ease.

 

“That was a pretty amazing display.” The Minuteman leaned on the antique doorframe, looking her over with a satisfied grin. “I’m just glad you’re on our side.”

“Preston,” She sat up, swinging bare legs over the side of the bed, wrapping the moth-eaten blanket around her shoulders. “What happened? How did I get back here?” Her head throbbed with the sudden change in position.

 

“Well, Sturges pulled you outta that banged up power armor so he could carry you and your supplies to Sanctuary. We patched your arm up best we could and used up a few of those Stimpaks in your bag. Hope you don’t mind.” The warmth of his smile was so familiar. It hurt her to think about why.

 

She shook her head, stifling a yawn.

 

“For the longest time Mama Murphy had a vision of a place called Sanctuary. I think we could settle down here, make it a place to call home. What do you think?” His gaze lingered on her face, eyes sparkling.

 

“Yeah, I used to like living here. Before the war…” Nora spoke without thinking.

 

“What do you mean? Before what war?”

 

She sucked air through her teeth trying to simplify the context as quickly as possible. “I lived here 200 years ago, before the bombs dropped. I was frozen inside a Vault- just woke up recently.”

 

Preston could sense her bristling. “Did anybody make it out with you?”

 

The pain in her eyes told a very sad story. “Yes,” she whispered quietly. “My son, Shaun. He- they-” she swallowed hard. “Somebody took him away while I was still trapped. I’ve been looking for him.”

 

“There’s more to your destiny, isn’t there?” Mama Murphy’s rasping voice floated through the air from what used to be a living room. “I’ve seen it. And I know your pain. You’re a woman out of time. Out of hope. But all’s not lost. I can feel…your son’s energy. He’s alive.”

 

Nora practically bolted from the bed, shrugging the blanket around her shoulders as she made her way to the psychic’s side. “Shaun’s alive? Where is he? Do you know?” The words were desperately stung together.

 

“I can just feel his life force. His energy. He’s out there. But I don’t need the Sight to know where to start looking for him.” The corners of the old woman’s mouth stretched into a smile.

 

“Where? Where should I start looking for him?”

 

“The great green jewel of the Commonwealth: Diamond City herself.” Nora made to continue with her line of questioning, but Mama Murphy held up a withered hand with a sigh. “Look kid, I’m tired. Maybe you bring me some chems later, the Sight will paint a clearer picture.”

 

Preston shot the old mystic a dirty look. “Mama Murphy we talked about this. No more chems. They’ll kill you!” The old woman just chuckled at him, shaking her head.

 

Nora’s gaze dropped to the warped and filthy floorboards of the house. A hot pang of guilt migrated upward from her stomach when she realized that she would pump all of the drugs of the wasteland into the fate forecaster if it meant finding her son. The realization troubled her.

 

“Here,” the man’s dark hand was clasped around something blue and yellow. “I had Marcy wash it for you. She got most of the blood out-” he paused, turning a bit green at the memory of her wound.

 

She grabbed it with her good hand, pressing it to her chest. “Thank you.” Her voice was small, and her gaze was far away.

 

“Why don’t you go ahead and get dressed, and I will rustle up some food. You must be _starving_ after being out for 3 days without a bite!”

 

She wasn’t sure which realization surprised her the most- his never ending positivity or the fact that she had gunned down a Deathclaw while wearing 200 year old power armor and lived to talk about it.

 

***

Preston had left her to change, and she welcomed the time alone. The selfish part of her was incensed at dealing with a group of strangers while trying to grieve the loss of her husband and son; the other side of her was relieved to have the help getting back on her feet.

 

She slid the blanket off of her shoulders, staring into the cracked bathroom mirror. _At least Codsworth took care of the hair clippings_. She breathed in deeply through her nose, blowing the air out of puffed cheeks. Her reflection started back, frightening her. She’d lost weight in her face, and her skin was pale and clammy. There were dark circles under her eyes, and a scratch on her cheek. There was no memory associated with where it had come from, and she let the thought go. Her steely gaze moved to her left shoulder. There was a good amount of gauze wrapped around it with a pattern of dried blood in an elongated C shape beneath.

 

_How bad was it?_ She dreaded the answer but used her right hand to gently unwrap the soiled bandaging. A gasp escaped her lips, and she put a hand to her mouth, more than slightly horrified. The gash had been deep. Uneven stitches had helped to close the gap left by the deadly claws. She’d guessed that their purpose was to hold her broken flesh together to aid the effects of the Stimpak in knitting her back together. It wasn’t bleeding any more, and the scar tissue was lighter than the rest of her shoulder. _That’s going to leave a mark_. She grimaced at the joke, turning her gaze to the stitches.

 

The mirror cabinet groaned open, and she spotted the scissors she’d used to bully her hair into submission. Two snips, and she was pulling the useless fibers from the wound, grimacing at the foreign stimulation. Two fingers pressed gently along the crescent-shape, feeling the lack of sensation across the smooth pink flesh. The deathclaw had severed some nerves, but it didn’t seem to keep her from a full range of motion she noted, rotating her shoulder.

 

It had not taken nearly as long to shrug on the battered blue jumpsuit. She perched on the edge of the bed, fumbling with the boots. The wound itself wasn’t hurting, but her muscles ached and protested with too much movement from her left arm. Her mind drifted back to what Preston had said. _Glad you’re on our side_. Something in her mind shifted, and she smiled quietly to herself. _Nate would have been proud of you for helping those people._

 

“It was the right thing to do,” she whispered to no one in particular.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeey everybody- just wanted to thank you again for reading. I am really enjoying this in spite of its' going-to-be-a-frickin'-novel status. Feel free to leave me nice comments, feedback, or critique.


	5. Starting at Home Plate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where she goes to Diamond City.

Chapter 5: Starting at Home Plate

 

Nora paced the living room nervously, mentally cataloging the events of the past month in Sanctuary. Her first instinct had been to rush out into the wasteland after Shaun, but she’d allowed Preston to talk her down from the suicide mission. She had _healing_ to do, he’d said and she had a sneaking suspicion he wasn’t just talking about her shoulder.

 

Her pacing brought her back to the bathroom and she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Her face looked… _alive_ again. The dark circles had receded, and her skin had gone a few shades darker after countless mornings and afternoons outside. She’d even been able to convince Marcy to clean up her hair, ignoring the woman’s off-putting attitude. She’d shorn the sides short leaving a longish red mop on the top. Most days she’d tie it back with leather cording filched from a worn-out pair of shoes. She had hoped the haircut would act as a bonding activity for the two women, but Marcy was still paranoid and on edge. _No surprise, given her circumstances_. Nora ran her fingers through her stick-straight hair, pulling it towards the crown of her head and tying it up. Giving it one last smoothing-over, she stepped out of the bathroom.

 

Helping the Minutemen settle Sanctuary had channeled her grief into something productive, but there was still one room she couldn’t bear. _Shaun…_ It felt like a lifetime since she’d held her baby in her arms. She’d gotten Preston to lean the broken door against the frame, blocking the room from view. She swallowed her grief and moved back to the living room to inspect her pack for the umpteenth time. It was stuffed to the gills with supplies, all carefully packed for easiest access. A strand of red fell over her eyes and she pulled it back behind her ear, testy. Her nerves felt frayed despite regular rest and meals. _Am I really ready?_

 

Preston and Nora’s friendship unfolded and grew out of their daily training sessions. He’d been extremely impressed with the sole survivor’s ability to hold her own against a Deathclaw, and the general way she carried herself. The fact that her husband had been murdered and her son stolen hadn’t kept her from helping others build a new life from the ashes of her past. He’d started her out with the easy stuff- _Wasteland 101_ he’d called it.

 

She smiled to herself. The Minuteman had reminded her of Nate’s war buddies: always polite, and giving her the sense that they would be there for the family if and when the need arose. There was a deep bond there- trust. They had trusted their lives to each other, and she’d felt the roots of that same kind of trust with Preston. He treated her like she was capable- and she _was_ capable, just ignorant of the broken world.

 

Her hand came to rest on the pistol at her hip. A makeshift shooting range had been thrown together towards the back of the settlement by Sturges at Preston’s request. After a full month of practicing firing drills and basic combat maneuvers with the two of them, she’d felt more confident about making the trip to Diamond City alone. _Well, not exactly alone…_

 

She turned to pat Dogmeat, who was laying at the foot of the ruined couch. His head bobbed back and forth watching her pace. He was used to the woman’s penchant for pacing. It was how she worked things out. Nate used to drive her by the shoulders to a comfortable chair during intense cases, swearing that she’d wear grooves into the floor if left to her own devices. It was somewhat true even now: one could track her movement through the house by the dirt-free swaths her feet had carved out of the floor.

 

Nit-picking hands tugged and adjusted the leather armor covering various body parts. Sturges was a talented handyman and had shown her basic skills to work with the armor and how to keep it in decent shape. She’d ended up refurbishing most of it herself, as he’d been busy making, doing, and mending the town. Gratitude washed over her as she thought about the settlers. They had helped her in ways she couldn’t have imagined and she was determined to repay that debt.

 

There was a knock at the doorframe, and Preston stepped into the house, coat swinging with each step. “You sure you’re ready?” She nodded, swinging the pack to her back. Dogmeat hopped up, tail wagging.

 

“C’mon,” she was heading for the door. “You can walk me to the edge of town.”

 

He chuckled to himself, following the redhead and her dog out into the street. Both were quiet for most of the walk, and he looked her over, considering how she’d grown over the past month. Preston couldn’t imagine what it must be like to be her, but he had been impressed by her resolve. He’d seen hardened men lose their minds from grief, but it seemed to propel this woman forward. She’d also displayed an excellent ability to lead, rallying the settlers and getting her hands dirty. _The type of person people could look up to._ He smiled to himself. It was too soon to ask her.

 

They’d reached the bridge, and Nora had turned to the Minuteman, seeing him smile. “What?”

 

“Oh, nothing.” He shook his head, and looked down at her face. “I just got you a little something is all.”

 

“You didn’t have to do that- I already have enough supplies for at least a week, and you said it should really only take me three days if I make good time.” She wasn’t sure she could accept more kindness on top of everything else he had done for her.

 

He pulled his hat off with one large hand, setting it on top of hers. “To keep the sun off of your face.” He flicked the brim with an index finger, exposing her eyes. They crinkled at the edges, and she pulled him into a tight hug.

 

“Thank you.” She whispered hoarsely. Her arms released him and she started across the bridge without a backwards glance.

 

She wasn’t going to let him see her cry.

 

***

Three days had come and gone. Nora’s muscles ached from the physicality of the trip, and she’d found herself truly comprehending the benefits of automobiles. She and Dogmeat had stopped to scarf down a meal. She rubbed a calf, stuffing a Dandy Boy apple into her mouth. The dial of the Pip-Boy clicked as she bought up the map, assessing their progress. “We should make it there today, boy.” She smiled at the dog, tipping some of the prewar snacks out of the box for him.

 

The pair had avoided a good amount of highway cutting across the landscape. They had steered clear of anything that looked inhabited, making their way past several raider camps undetected, and she’d breathed deep sighs of relief each time they were out of range. The sky was dull grey, and threatened to spit raindrops on them at any time.

 

“Preston said something about a settlement near here- Oberland Station?” The dog cocked his head to one side. Nora had taken to having conversations with her furry partner, and swore that sometimes he seemed to understand. _Maybe. Probably not._

She shrugged to herself, pulling the pack back on, and felt at the slight chain around her neck. Preston had found it and given it to her unceremoniously, Nate’s wedding ring sliding along the silver rope. _“Marcy found the ring in your pocket, and I thought you might like to keep it on the chain. Keep it safe.”_ She’d been grateful. He seemed to understand not to pry any further, and she’d slipped it over her head and under the neck of the coveralls with a mumbled “Thanks.”

 

The worn slats of the railroad stood firm under her boots. She skipped from slat to slat on the balls of her feet, trying to inject some amusement into the monotony. There were to abandoned train cars ahead. _Probably used for shipping. I bet they’re already picked clean_. She heard Preston’s voice in her head “ _Check everything. You never know when travellers have hidden supply caches for emergencies._ ”

 

She jerked to a halt at the low growl next to her. Dogmeat’s ears flicked backwards, and his tail stuck straight out from his body.

 

“What is it boy?” her voice was barely a whisper, but fear welled up in her chest. Something up ahead was moving, stirred by the sound of her boot falls. _Is that a person? What were they doing lying in the middle of the railroad tracks?_

 

A gurgling growl met her ears. _What the hell?_ The silhouette stood awkwardly, and leaned forward, breaking into a sudden gait. Dogmeat shot off like a bullet, taking the thing down. More wet growls echoed between the cars, and the horde of feral ghouls surged forward, launching themselves at the woman in the Minuteman hat.

 

Her pistol was in her hands, and she was aiming, Preston’s words in her ear. “ _Take a deep breath. Squeeze the trigger, don’t pull it. Look down the barrel with one eye, and line up the shot. As soon as you’ve got the target in your sights, let ‘er rip.”_

Fear welled up in her chest as the grey light illuminated their melted features. Their empty eyes glowed with a desperate hunger. _Zombies!_ Her eyes grew wide with terror and her hands shook.

 

They were the one movie monster that really got to her. Nate had loved monster movies, and he’d dragged her to the Starlight Drive-In for all of them. Multiple times. She had always left shaking her head at the nonsense plots the wreaked of crazy conspiracy and shoddy science, but one night the movie had featured reanimated corpses bent on ripping people apart with their insatiable hunger. Something about the idea of fighting off a horde that couldn’t be reasoned with and mindlessly ate people alive terrified her. She’d had nightmares of being stuck in the center of an undulating mass of dead flesh ripping skin and muscle from her bones while she watched.

 

Another term came to mind. _Ghouls_. _They were ghouls-_ _“Irradiated to hell and back. Their brains are nothing but atomic mush.”_ Sturges had made it clear that he’d had no love for the creatures during one of their jaunts.

 

She shook her head, screwed up her eyes, and took aim. The shots echoed along the track, and the nearest figure fell at her feet, blood leaking between the faded boards of the track. She squeezed the trigger again. Again. Again. Ferals dropped left and right, making short piles.

 

But not all of the shots met their mark. A final straggler had managed to sneak past her peripheral vision, and lunged at her, knocking her to the ground. She screamed, feeling clawing hands rip at her body. A hand came down forcefully, slamming the butt of the pistol into the creatures head. It lay still and she rolled out from under it, disgusted. She knelt next to it, staring into dead yellow eyes. A deep rage burned through her guts, and she brought the butt of the gun down over and over, making guttural noises as it slammed into the zombie’s skull.

 

Nora wasn’t sure at what point she had stopped, but the soft lapping of the dog’s tongue brought her out of the trance. He cleaned the blood and brain matter from her fingers, one hand still firmly gripping the pistol. Her breathing was ragged, her gaze unfocused. She blinked the liquid from her eyes fiercely, focusing on the remains of the creature. Her stomach churned, unbidden, and she retched. She stood up on shaky legs trying to catch her breath.

 

Gripped with two hands, the gun lead the way to the abandoned train cars. Nora couldnt bring herself to look back at the remains. With surprising strength, she pulled herself into one of them, eyes scanning for danger. They fell on a small stash of caps and a beat up blue cooler. She slid the cover of the cooler open carefully the pistol in her right hand, and kept her nose upwind just in case. She was pleased to find a cache of Stimpaks, Med-X and a burgundy inhaler of some kind.

 _J_ _et_. She remembered being horrified when Nate told her. The military had not only _given_ chems to their soldiers, but had _encouraged_ them to “do whatever was necessary” to gain the upper hand.

 

_“What was it like taking the drugs?” she’d hated herself for asking him the question._

_“Well, Stimpaks- they heal wounds quickly. I think they stitch tissue back together or something as long as the wound isn’t too severe. Med-X, well you know that’s used for pain management, Mentats to keep us awake and alert, and Jet…” His eyes were far away as he contemplated an answer. “Jet makes the whole world slow down. It’s like living in slow motion. It lasts just long enough to make sense of the battle.” His description had sounded cryptic, but she could tell he was done talking about it._

She pocketed the chems and slid the cap stash into her bag, hopping out of the car. The other had two stuck doors, so she gave up on them and the two continued on their way. _I need to find someplace to wash this shit off of me_. She turned her hands, looking them over with disgust. They were sticky and red. She felt her stomach start to churn again, and looked away. A familiar anger burned her insides. _Weak._ She scowled, shoving her hands into her pockets.

 

***

It was dark when they reached the city limits. Hand painted signs pointed in the direction of Diamond City, and it dawned on her: Diamond City was Fenway Park. Security guard wearing baseball pads prowled the streets just outside the structure, eyeing her and the dog warily. She was thankful that she’d made the effort to clean herself up. _I doubt they let people who look like murderers in._ Her nose wrinkled.

 

A loud groan echoed across the square, and Nora noticed an exasperated woman in red coat and a newsboy cap gesticulating to a speaker.

 

“You open this gate right now, Danny Sullivan! I live here. You can’t just lock me out!” A heaving sigh. “Let me in,” her tone changed to more of a whine, and she turned away from the speaker, looking Nora's Vault suit up and down.

 

“You,” it was an excited whisper. “You want into Diamond City, Right?”

 

Nora arched a brow contemptuously. “What? Who are you?”

 

She put up one gloved finger, shushing her. “What’s that? You’re a trader up from Quincy? You have enough supplies to keep the general store stocked for a whole month? Huh.” The woman was grinning like a Cheshire cat. She continued to goad what Nora assumed was the gate keeper.

 

“Ok Piper. No need to make it _personal_.” The man’s voice betrayed his irritation at being outwitted.

 

Dogmeat sat on his haunches, licking his chops. _The dog doesn’t seem to mind her._

 

She missed the last part of the redcoat’s conversation, but heard the telltale movement of metal from the gate.

 

“Better head inside quick before ole’ Danny catches on to the bluff.” The two women walked under what resembled a giant green garage door. Nora paused once they were inside, pushing up the brim of her hat with a thumb.

 

“This place. Diamond City. What is it?”

 

Piper smiled bitterly. “The _green jewel_? Everyone who’s anyone in the Commonwealth is from here, settled here, or got kicked out of here.” She grinned, poking her chest at the last remark. “A big wall, some power, working plumbing, schools and some security goons are what make Diamond City the big monster that it is. Love it or hate it. You’ll see for yourself soon enough.” Her Cheshire smile was back.

 

A man in a brown suit and fedora was yelling at Piper, demanding to know how she’d snuck back in. “You devious, rabblerousing slanderer! The level of dishonesty in that paper of yours. I’ll have your printer scrapped for parts!”

 

The redcoat was firing back, while Nora made mental notes about the man and woman.

 

Her impassioned words broke Nora’s concentration. "Do _you_ support the news? ‘Cause the mayor’s threatening to throw free speech in the dumpster.”

 

She eyed the mayor, going with her gut. “Always believed in freedom of the press.”

 

He was tripping over his words now, saying something about Nora being “Diamond City material” He recovered, launching into a politician’s speech. “Welcome to the great green jewel of the Commonwealth. Safe. Happy. A fine place to come, spend your money, settle down.” He cleared his throat, shaking his head. “Now, was there anything particular you came to our city for?”

 

“I’m trying to find someone.” She kept her voice even, matter of fact.

 

“Trying to find someone? Who?” she could sense the unease her answer had caused him, and considered lying. She thought better of it.

“My baby boy, Shaun. He’s less than a year old.” the shaking in her voice betrayed her.

 

She heard Piper’s voice. “Wait, your son is missing?” She chided the Mayor, attempting to bully him into offering Nora some assistance.

 

“While I’m afraid that our security team can’t follow every case that comes through, I’m confident you can find help here.” There was a finality to his tone that told Nora any further digging would be useless. He excused himself quickly to “mayoral duties” and she watched his hefty form slink away. Her heart beat heavily in her chest. _Shaun_. _I miss you._ _I’ll find you._

Her eyes were hard when Piper cut in. “Look, I gotta go get settled in,” she was picking at her fingers, “But stop by my office later. I have an idea for an article you’d be perfect for.”

 

Nora watched the woman go, considering her offer. Did she really want to be interviewed by the impish reporter? She shook her head feeling the ache in her chest at Shaun’s absence. _Don’t lose hope_. She heard Nate’s voice in her head.

 

 _But where do I start?_ She knew he couldn't answer, but wished for it all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that was the longest chapter yet. Up next: our favorite synth detective.
> 
> Also, just curious: Anyone else not really care for Piper? I did not recruit her in my game, but my hub loves her.


	6. Pink Neon Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where she learns a little something about the danger of throwing stones.

**Chapter 6: Pink Neon Lights**

 

“ _Na-ni shimasho-ka?_ ”

 

Nora blinked, her arms on the counter in front of her.

 

“What?”

 

“ _Na-ni shimasho-ka_?” Someone had put a chef’s hat on the protectron, and she fought the urge to laugh how absurd it looked. He was stirring a pot of something, and a stranger to her left was slurping noodles like a savage, the broth running down his filthy chin.

 

“Uh… Yes?” she didn't know how to respond. The robot procured a bowl from below the counter, filling it with noodles from the pot. Nora was thankful for a hot meal, and pushed a handful of caps across the worn laminate in exchange. Dogmeat sat next to her, watching the robo-chef intently.

 

She manipulated the chopsticks easily, bringing the steaming noodles to her mouth. Using the toe of her boot to maneuver the stool, she twisted slowly, taking in the sight of the city. Despite the dirt and hobbled nature of the buildings, it was an impressive structure. She wondered who had decided to renovate the stadium and turn it into a safe haven.

 

The city’s center had quieted, and most of the shops were closed. Nora was well practiced at working through the night. She’d had to burn the midnight oil on countless cases. She stifled a yawn, feeling the fatigue in her limbs. _Back then we had coffee_. Her eyelids were drooping, and she slid off of the ancient bar stool. Joints popped and cracked in protest as she stretched, scooping up her pack to shoulder it. _Walk it off_. She chuckled to herself at the baseball joke.

 

Mama Murphy’s words drifted into her mind as she wandered the sleeping city. The Sight had been upon her, and she stared out of hazy eyes, her gaze burning right through the sole survivor. _“Diamond City Holds the answers, but they’re locked up tight. You ask them what they know, but people’s hearts are chained up with fear and suspicion.”_ She pulled in a rattled breath, continuing _, “But you find it. You find that heart that’s gonna lead you to your boy. Oh, its…”_ she was breathing heavily, clearly beginning to strain _. “Its bright. So bright against the dark alleys it walks. That’s… that’s what you need to do kid. Follow the signs to the bright heart…”_ The old woman had swooned, and Nora wrapped a hand around her frail shoulders, helping her to a seat _._

 

Her words had rung true enough- every person she’d asked had been reticent to talk to a stranger. It had been disheartening to say the least. People whispered and spoke in lowered voices around her. Something seemed to frighten them to their cores, but Nora had no idea how to proceed. It was too late to try shaking Piper down for information, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. The reporter seemed to go looking for trouble. _And I don't need any more of that.._.

 

Her fingers brushed the gun at her side, and she grimaced, blinking away the image of dead ghouls. The stress of the day weighed heavily on her, like her head was underwater. Her steps were heavy as she passed the school. Curiosity overtook her and she pressed her face up to the glass on the door trying to peek into the room, but the window had been blacked out. A heavy sigh escaped. Staring at the greasy stains her face had left on the glass, she awkwardly wiped them away with her sleeve. _We were going to walk him to school. Read to him every night._ Her steps slowed, and she reached a hand out to steady herself. _I can’t do this. It’s too much for just one person._

Cool grey eyes scanned the path ahead formed by the ramshackle metal structures. A bright magenta neon sign glowed in the distance. She squinted her eyes, trying to make out the word.

“Detective?” _Why wouldn’t the Mayor just tell me there was a detective in town?_ She was annoyed, patience wearing thin with her general weariness. She shoved her body off of the wall, stalking towards the glow. There was a green road sign above it that read _Third Street_. Her gaze followed the wooden path to the right, where there was another neon pink sign. She couldn’t make out the words, just the heart-

 

“ _Follow the bright heart_ ” the heavy Bostonian accent ran through her mind.

 

“Bright against the dark alleys…” her voice trailed off. _The old woman isn’t crazy_.

 

Her hands wrapped around the handle, and she was knocking frantically. The knob turned from the opposite side, an exasperated-looking woman meeting her gaze.

 

“Another stray coming in from the rain,” she muttered to herself. “’Fraid your too late. Office is closed.” Her eyes were tired, and she looked run down. A pink scarf crossed her chest, and she wore a leather vest over a moth-eaten pink dress.

 

“I know it’s late, but I won’t take much of your time.” Nora’s words were pleading, and she was too tired to force the feelings of loss into the depths of her psyche. “Please? It’s important.”

 

Ellie Perkins saw the loss in the woman’s eyes and her expression softened. “I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just… the detective. He’s gone missing.”

 

Nora sucked in a breath, trying to manage the blow. “Do you have any idea how I can find him?” She swayed on her feet.

 

Ellie looked the woman over, noting the grim expression on her face, and the way her eyelids drooped with exhaustion. In spite of the strange hat, she’d gotten too much sun, and her cheeks were angry red. Dirt and grime had stuck to the evaporated sweat on her face- she’d been travelling for some time.

 

“Look,” her tone was almost maternal, “You look like you need some rest. I’ve got a bed upstairs. Why don’t you sleep on the couch there?” She nodded her head towards the worn out lounge.

 

Nora opened her mouth to resist, but Ellie held a hand up, making a soft tut-tutting noise. “I’m not taking no for an answer. We can talk about Nick in the morning if you're serious about really trying to find him.”

 

Nora shrugged the pack off, sizing the other woman up. _Good people_. That’s what Nate would have called her. She nodded. Dogmeat’s body circled itself, and he plopped himself in front of the couch. It was the only reassurance she needed. She sat heavily, positioning herself awkwardly. The cushions smelled like mothballs and old smoke, but she wasn’t about to complain.

 

Ellie headed upstairs to the sound of heavy breathing and deep sleep below. _Let’s hope she can find him_. Ellie’s heart was a little lighter. She had a good feeling about the girl.

 

***

Nora blinked her eyes open, the smell of stale cigarettes and musty objects entering her nose. The whirring of the desk fan pushed air around the room, and a meager breeze blew errant strand of hair around. The hat had fallen off of her head during the night, and she groaned, pushing her legs over the side of the couch. She’d slept in an awkward position, and her limbs were tingling.

 

“It doesn’t sleep too comfortably, but it beats the floor.” Ellie blew smoke towards the ceiling, shooting Nora a knowing grin. There was an expandable file on the desk in front of her, and it looked like she’d been picking through it. “Really surprised I didn’t wake you up. I’ve heard most mercs are light sleepers.”

 

“Mercs?” Nora was rubbing sleep from her eyes.

 

“You know, mercenaries?” Ellie was suddenly having second thoughts. “You are hired gun, right? I just figured… the armor- the pistol?”

 

Nora sensed the woman bristling. “I know how to handle myself if that’s what you’re asking.” Dogmeat stood up, dropping himself into a stretch and yawning.

 

“Now, what can you tell me about this detective?”

 

***

"Park Street Station.” She tapped at the Pip-Boy, tracking their route and forming a plan. “It should take us less than an afternoon to get there, and we can rest for the night- recharge our batteries, and take ‘em by surprise.” She rubbed her chin, talking more to herself than the dog. Dogmeat humored her with a woof, panting along beside her through the Commonwealth.

 

It had still been early when they’d set off, and Ellie had given her a sack of caps to cover expenses. Nora could hear them shifting around her pack. The woman’s voice played between her ears “ _I told Nick he was walking into a trap, but he just smiled and walked out the door like he always does.”_ There had been something more implied, but she’d chosen to leave it alone. Whatever was between the detective and his secretary was between them. She just wanted to find her son.

 

It was still staggering to _see_ the ruined cityscape, but walking through it was worse. The buildings groaned and creaked like withered metal ghosts in the quiet. _The quiet_. It was the most unnerving part of the wandering the wasteland. No traffic, no planes, nothing. Every now and then she was thankful for the quiet. It let her mind wander, thoughts drifting in and out of her mind to the point where she couldn’t remember the mental paths she’d traversed. Practically speaking, the lack of traffic and now-extinct city noises helped her avoid unwanted attention from raiders. Preston had warned her about a group of monsters called Super Mutants, and while she’d known he was serious, a part of her couldn’t quite believe that there were mutated giants with green skin wandering the wasteland, destroying any living thing that got in their way.

 

She rechecked their progress, pleased to see that they were making excellent time. _I guess luck is on our side today_. She smiled, feeling the heat of the sun on her cheeks. _The weather decided to cooperate this time around_ she thought to herself, rolling her sleeves as the pair walked. She went back to what Ellie had told her about the thugs she’d suspected were responsible for Nick’s disappearance.

 

“Skinny Malone,” she mused aloud. _Sounds like one of those mobster movie goons_. She tallied facts on her fingertips. “He’s from Goodneighbor, some kid of rough neighborhood.” Index finger. “He kidnaps girls.” Middle finger. “He has power, so that means he probably delegates responsibilities.” Ring finger. “Wears suits.” Pinky. “And uses machine guns.” She pulled on her thumb, twisting her index finger around it, puzzling out the likely situation. _Would a guy like that even bother to leave a nosy detective alive? What was his angle?_

She turned the information over and over in her head, getting a mental image of Malone. _What else had Ellie said about folks from Goodneighbor? Style and body count?_ Perhaps she could appeal to his probable narcissism. She jumbled the information up, weighing it against the demons she’d sent to jail. Crime had types. She just had to figure out what type of thug Skinny Malone was.

Dogmeat bristled next to her and she looked up from the ground, taking in the little pond. A paddleboat with a swan on the back bumped up against the side. It was hard to believe the thing was 200 years old and still intact like that. The dog let out an alarmed bark as she approached the swan boat, looking over the peeling pink paint.

 

“Oh calm down. I’m not going to get in the water.” Her tone was mock-scolding. She turned her attention back to the boat, chuckling. _Paddleboats like this are ridiculous! What about them is supposed to be romantic?_ She noticed what looked to be a capsized version, and shook her head. _Take that, swan boat!_ Letting her good mood run away with her good sense, she scooped up a rock, launching it at the plastic debris. The dog barked in warning and all hell broke loose.

 

A giant green mass exploded from the water, throwing its tree-trunk arms in the air. The eardrum-shattering bellow shook the pond and the ground around them. Her mouth fell open, and she sputtered. Dogmeat gripped her sleeve with his teeth, dragging her forward, and she snapped out of it.

 

“RUN!” she took off towards the telltale blue roof of the subway entrance, leaping over branches and debris that had scattered across the brick path. She could feel the ground shudder with each loping step the creature took. It roared again, and she slammed her hands to her ears to keep them from ringing. A giant boulder crashed into the ground beside them and she hazarded a look behind her. It was ripping up the asphalt and heaving the massive chunks their way. They’d made it to the back of the lengthy building, and she felt her hands dragging against the whitewashed brick. It burned, but she didn’t have time to think about the pain, grabbing the edge of the wall and flinging her body towards the blue metal doors. A chunk of debris slammed into the exterior wall and sending a crack right up the middle. She threw the door to the subway station open, ushering Dogmeat through first, and slamming the door.

 

She didn’t know what the hell that thing was or whether or not it would fit through the doors, but her lungs were on fire, and her knees were bucking so hard she faltered. There were no longer crashes sounding from outside, and the hideous roars of the creature seemed to fade into the distance. Dogmeat seemed to sense the beast’s departure, and visiblly settled, sitting down next to her and panting hard.

 

She clicked the Pip-Boy light on to inspect her hand. She’d scuffed a layer of skin off on the exterior of the building and it was bleeding. She mentally cursed herself for being so careless. _You threw a rock at it. YOU. THREW. A ROCK. AT. IT!_ She rocked herself back and forth, biting back a scream. _Stupid, stupid stupid!_ She ran the green light over the dog, checking him for injury but he remained unscathed. She twisted her fingers in his fur with her good hand trying to comfort them both.

 

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was hollow. Dogmeat lowered his head to her knee as if to say _I forgive you, it’s ok._ The frustration and self flagellation had finally boiled over, and she leaned into his dark fur sobbing wordlessly in the dark.

 

***

 

She awoke after what felt like several hours, a line of spittle trailing out of the corner of her mouth. Her tongue was sandpaper, and she pulled a bottle of water from her pack, drinking deeply. Her eyes felt puffy and irritated and she smacked her head against the water bottle, disgusted. She _hated_ crying.

 

She glanced around, looking at the twin escalators that hadn’t seen movement in 200 years. There were sounds coming from below them, and Dogmeat’s hackles were up. She cupped an ear, listening through the darkness. _Voices_.

“I’m telling ya, joining Skinny Malone’s crew was the best decision we’ve ever made. Look at this place!” She’d been right about the delegating.

 

She listened intently. _Only two of them_. Her hands groped around in the dark, clasping around something cold and metal. It was some kind of rod. Without a second thought, she tossed it, sliding behind the center seam of the escalators for cover. The rod clanged down the metal stairs, the ruckus echoing throughout the chamber.

 

“What the hell was that?” the voice sounded nervous.

 

“Probably just a molerat or somethin'- go check it out.”

 

 _“If you control the action, you control the outcome_.” Preston had stressed the importance of strategizing in a fight to even the odds. _“Don’t rush in there without your head.”_ She silently finished the thought; _Or you’ll end up dead._

 

She heard the man's steps as he climbed the stairs, searching for the source of the sound. _Not yet._ The footsteps were getting closer, and she stayed crouched, the muscles in her legs starting to protest. He stepped right past her. The last thing he saw was the end of the pistol. She pulled the trigger, knowing it meant more violence was coming to find her. The figure doubled over, his fedora toppling to the floor, a round hole front and center. His machine gun fell to the floor, rattling metallically. She quickly searched his trouser pockets, pulling out ammunition cartridges and stuffing them into the pockets at her knees.

 

Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs and she knew she’d been spotted. She yanked the tommy gun to her, ducking back into her hiding spot.

 

“I know you’re up there you little bitch!” By the sound of his voice, he was still a distance from her. “You’re gonna pay for that!”

 

Her heart hammered in her chest. She just needed things to slow down. _I need time to think-_ she reached a shaky hand into her pocket, her husbands voice clear in her mind. “ _Its like living in slow motion…”_ She ripped the inhaler from her pocket, and stuffed the atomizing end into her mouth, pushing the burgundy rod down. The vapor was hot, and bitter. She screwed up her face, going to wipe her mouth. It was surreal: time seemed to have slowed down, but her brain was still processing things at normal speed. The sounds of the gangster’s voice were low, unintelligible rumbles. The inhaler floated across the air, arcing beautifully. She sprang up, body turning at a snails pace, training her eyes on her opponent. He mouthed angry words at her, and she squeezed the trigger, watching little fireworks erupt from the barrel of the gun and fly towards him. They pelted his chest, sending him careening backwards, while his arms flailed, drifting through the air like sails. She watched his body bounce, land, and reverberate against the concrete, and felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her body was moving too slow- _not enough air._ She felt her heart slamming into her chest like a great war hammer, and began to pull herself down the stairs. Step by step, time began to beat faster, and by the time she'd reached the landing she felt normal again, sucking in deep lungfuls of air. She looked at the belly-up mobster at her feet, and kicked at his shoulder with the toe of her boot before squatting to pick through the dead man’s pockets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I lied about Nick being in this chapter, but guess what? He's gonna show up in Chapter 7 instead. I didn't expect this chapter to get so long so quickly. Hope you enjoyed it and learned a valuable lesson about throwing stones into strange ponds.


	7. Be My Valentine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where she (for real this time) meets a certain Synth detective.

**Chapter 7: Be My Valentine**

 

Vault 114 was located at the end of the long subway tunnel. Approximately ten guards had been stationed from the entrance of the subway to the left-hand tunnel where the sole survivor now found herself. She raked a hand through the last of their pockets, finding nothing but a few bottle caps. Adrenaline was coursing through her veins, blocking other emotions from surfacing. She was thankful for that. She cast a backward glance at the destruction she and the dog had left in their wake. _Every last one of these bastards wore a fedora._ She climbed the steps to the vault door ramp slowly and leaned on the console, taking deep breaths. _Why did I agree to this? What the hell am I doing here?_ And a darker thought: _I murdered those men._ She sat back on her haunches,looking herself over. Several bullets had grazed her armor leaving dark streaks across the aged leather. She’d been fortunate that none had penetrated.

 

A dull throbbing sensation had dawned over her right eye. The baseball bat had grazed her before she could fire into the Triggerman’s chest. His eyes had gone wide, then dark as his body crumpled to the dirty concrete. She touched the brow bone gingerly, her fingers coming away damp with congealed blood. She pulled the pack to her lap, digging for the first aid kit. Shaky fingers patted the wound down with alcohol wipes, some of them dried out after 200 years. The bandage was carefully applied to the approximate spot, trying to spare her eyebrows the adhesive.

 

With the rucksack once again packed, Nora turned her steel-colored gaze to the ugly yellow console, comparing the various slots and buttons to the Pip-Boy. The memory of her Vault 111 escape was still fresh, and she removed the white cylindrical attachment from the wrist-computer and punched it into the matching hole in the console.

 

The giant gear-like door rolled to the right of the entrance, the moving parts squalling and groaning. She held the 10mm pistol at the ready, anticipating an attack.

 

***

It took the better part of an hour to clear the twisting and turning metal hallways of the underground shelter. 114, she surmised, had been one of Vault Tech’s more traditional models. There were a great many more layers to it when compared to 111, and she’d mentally marked the path using the Pip-Boy’s localized map function. She felt pressure building in her head the farther into down she travelled. _I’m close. I can feel it._

 

She came to a ledge that seemed out of place. There were no handrails, but she could peer down the rectangular opening in the floor and view the next two floors down. _I’m not even going to ask_. She peered down the sight of the gun, scanning for movement. A lone Triggerman passed underneath without detecting her.  Shrugging off the pack, she knelt in front of Dogmeat. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

 

The dog gave her a quizzical look, but he acquiesced, rump meeting the floor. “Good boy.” There was a gentle pat on the top of his head.

 

Nora crawled the few paces to the edge, peeking over. Sensing no movement, she grabbed the rucksack by a strap, dangling it over the ledge. Using just arm strength she swung it to the center of the hole, letting it drop to the bottom level. Swinging her legs over the edge, she slid down, the impact echoing down the halls. Nora grabbed the pack, ducking behind a tower of metal shipping containers. She didn’t have to wait long for the thug to wander back, trying to suss out the origin of the sound.

 

The last thing he heard was the heavy sound of the machine gun stock making contact with his skull. His body swayed for a moment, flopping unceremoniously to the ground. Dogmeat whined at her from above, but made no attempt to move. _Good dog._

 

The end of the hallway lead to a large set of double doors. Conversation drifted through the entryway, and Nora struggled to make out the words.

 

“How ya’ doin’ in there, Valentine? Want a snack?” the voice was taunting.

 

“Keep talking meathead. It’ll give Skinny Malone more time to think of how he’s gonna bump you off.” A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth at the detective's quip.

 

“Don’t give me that crap Valentine. You know nothin’ and you got nothin’” The mobster was pacing and gesticulating at a door on the second landing. Part of her was surprised he hadn’t spotted her yet, the other was simply grateful.

 

“Really? I saw him writing you name down in that black book of his. Lousy cheating cardshark were his exact words, then he struck the name across _three_ times Dino.” There was a hint of amusement to the PI's voice.

 

“Really? 3 times?” Dino was staring through the circular window centered in the doorframe. The flying rucksack took him by surprise, and he fired his gun, bullets whizzing past her head. She rushed him while he was busy trying to keep his balance, and the pair landed hard against the corrugated metal flooring. She’d anticipated the fall would incapacitate the fool enough to subdue him. She’d overplayed her hand.

 

A large fist smashed into the side of her face, the pain exploding over her cheek in waves. She caught the next blow against her forearm having the upper-hand, but he was too strong. A considerable pair of hands gripped her arms, and she felt the world turn sideways as he slammed her into the wall. Her head throbbed, and she felt a hot stream run down her nose and over her lips. It tasted like iron. Another fist met her gut, and the sole survivor was doubled over, her arms instinctively covering her middle.

 

She gasped for breath, as his hand snaked to her throat. Giant fingers clasped over her windpipe, her eyes wide in terror. He was laughing and cussing her while she clawed weakly at his hands. A black and brown blur shot past her periphery, and all of the sudden she could breathe again, her hands resting on her chest. She coughed and spat, wiping the saliva from her mouth.

 

Dogmeat was savaging the man’s throat, and he’d landed face first in front of her, his body still. Before she could try to process what had happened, an irritable voice sounded through the door. “Hey I don’t know who you are, but we got three minutes before they realize muscles-for-brains ain’t coming back. Get this door open.”

 

Nora pulled herself up, rubbing the back of her throbbing head. She peered inside, spotting the figure in the fedora and jacket. _Just as described_. Her head was swimming, and she looked around dully, trying to figure out how to control the door.

 

“You gotta hack that terminal to open up this door.” He jerked his head to her right, and she twisted her body walking numbly to the Robco system. The scrambled jumble of words was asking her to input the password, but nothing on the screen made sense. She rubbed her eyes, then her temples, identifying words on the screen.  _The goon- Dino. Bet he had to write it down._

 

Nora crouched down, retrieving the hat she hadn’t realized had been knocked off of her head and checking Dino’s filthy pockets. There were a few caps, lint, and a scrap of paper. _Bingo._ She unfolded the crumpled note, and typed in the characters. She selected the door override, and the hatch let out a satisfying hiss, sliding along the tracks in the wall. She heard footsteps, and turned, face-to-face with glowing yellow eyes.

 

“Gotta love the irony of the reverse damsel-in-distress scenario.” He raked the match over his thigh, lighting a cigarette. “Question is, why did our heroine risk life and limb for an old private eye?”

 

“What _are_ you?” the words had escaped her mouth before thought could catch them.

 

“I told you,” He blew a cloud of smoke away from her, “I’m a detective.” His eyes met hers, sizing the woman up. “Look I know the skin and the metal parts ain’t comforting, but it’s not important right now.”

 

The orange glow of the cherry reflected off of the contours of his mechanical face. Nora stared back at him dumbly.

 

The android continued, “The only thing that matters is why you went to all this trouble to cut me loose.”

 

Her senses were finally beginning to return. He was trying to suss out her motive. _Trying to figure me out, huh?_   She met his electric gaze, feeling a strange compulsion to tell him the truth. There was something very human about him, and the adrenaline wasn’t helping her get a reliable read on the metal man.

 

“I need you to find someone, but it’s…complicated.” Her voice was quiet, but steady. “I don’t exactly know where they could be, or how long they’ve been gone.” She took a breath, letting it out slowly.

 

Nick looked past the woman’s injuries, studying her eyes. They were a dam of pain threatening to burst, and he his mechanized heart was moved. “Well I’ve done jobs with less.” He shot her his best noir grin, adding, “Somehow “nice and simple” never makes it onto the menu in my world.”

 

There was something paternal about his manner. Something in her gut was telling her that he was going to take care of things. _You can trust this man_. The relief of finding the detective and his willingness to take her case however, was short-lived.

 

“You got troubles, and I’m glad to help.” His voice cut through the silence. “But now ain’t the time. Let’s blow this joint, then we’ll talk.” A metallic hand flicked the cigarette over the railing, and the detective turned, leading the way down the flights of stairs.

 

“I’ve been trapped in here for weeks,” his voice carried over his shoulder. “Turns out the runaway daughter is Skinny Malone’s new flame, and she’s got a mean streak.”

 

Every step made her head throb worse, but she squinted her eyes, following the fedora and trenchcoat. The pack bounced against her lower back, and she could still hear Ellie’s caps jingling round inside. The pair made there way back through the twists and turns, Valentine unlocking previously inaccessible doors and cutting the trip time to the vault door in half. He’d told her what he knew of Skinny Malone and his gang on the way, pausing to pick another locked door.

 

“Ok, I got it, but I hear big, fat footsteps on the other side.” He turned to her, eyes glowing. Her face looked rough, and her eyes betrayed her exhaustion. He wasn’t sure why, but he reached out to squeeze her shoulder encouragingly. “Once we step through this door, get ready for anything.”

 

The touch was familiar, but she couldn’t fathom why and shrugged off the thought, hand firmly on the grip of her pistol. Dogmeat’s hackles were up. He could sense the tension through the doors.

 

Skinny Malone was a heavyset man in a poorly patched together black suit. He gripped a tommy gun, and was speaking angrily with the detective. From the tone of the conversation, the two had had previous dealings. If it hadn’t been for the guns pointed at the three of them, one might have mistaken them for old friends. The throbbing in her head distracted her from the words the men were exchanging. Adrenaline streamed into her system, revving her battered body up to fight again. The woman in the sparkling cocktail dress cut in.

 

“I told you we should’ve just killed him!” Darla was talking about Nick, “But then you had to get all _sentimental_! All that stupid crap about _old times_.” She tapped the baseball bat against her hand, scowling at the mobster.

 

“Darla, I’m handling this! Skinny Malone’s always got things under control!” It amused Nora that he was describing himself using third person.

 

“Oh yeah? Well then what’s _this_ lady doing here, huh?” Nora felt the woman’s crazy eyes on her face. She turned, giving the overdressed strumpet the once over. She was still tapping the bat against her palm, but Nora could see the tremors making their way up her arms. Her brows were low, but her eyes betrayed her true feelings: Darla was afraid. _All machismo, no bite_.

 

The sole survivor slipped the pistol back into her holster, approaching the runaway cautiously. “Darla, listen to me,” it was like convincing a jury, “You have a home to go back to- a family that loves you. You don’t want to throw your life away with these thugs.” The sadness inflected had been genuine.

 

Darla’s lower lip trembled. “I..I.. You’re right!” The fluorescent bulbs were reflected in her tears. “What am I doing? I’ve gotten all mixed up!” She dropped the baseball bat, the sound reverberating around the metal chamber. “I’m going home Skinny. Where I should have been all this time!” She pushed past the goons, crying into her hands.

 

Skinny turned back to them, glowering. “Oh come on, Nicky! You cost me my men, and now you and your friend cost me my girl?”

 

Nick saw a way out. “My friend here did you a favor, Skinny. You always did have bad taste in women.” He met the mafioso’s eyes, a slight smirk playing on his uncanny features. “Now that she’s not around to feed that temper of yours, maybe you’ll see sense and let us walk?” His voice lightened, “You still owe me for two weeks in the hole.”

 

“You smug, overconfident ass. Argh!”

 

Nora was afraid he was going to open fire. Dogmeat’s growl was low.

 

“All right, you get to the count of ten! I still see your face after that, I’m gunning both of you down!” He was trying to save face in front of his hired guns.

 

Nick took her by the hand and started forward, practically dragging her out of the vault. “We’d better get outta here fast.” They jogged along, and she was surprised to find the two of them back outside in the Commonwealth. The midnight air was cool against her face. She poked at her cheek gingerly, pain blooming across the raised area. She winced.

 

“You look like you kicked the hornet’s nest, kid.” Nick’s eyes were glowing faintly in the dark, scrutinizing her face. “You do all that for me?” He was shaking a cigarette out of a beat up pack, the orange of the matchstick flame reflected in her eyes.

 

She pursed her lips, considering his question. “I did- I _will do_ whatever it takes to find my son.” Her head was still pulsing with pain. “Or maybe I just wanted a robo sidekick.” She was trying to lighten the mood, grateful to him for talking Skinny down.

 

“Think you can make it back to the agency tonight?” a cloud of smoke wafted through the darkness, the smell of nicotine and tar burning in her nostrils.

 

“Yeah.” She couldn’t think of a witty reply, fatigue rippling through her body.

 

“I certainly wouldn’t bet against you.” He knocked a hand against her shoulder. “You’re one tough cookie, you know that?”

 

A weak smile crossed her features. “If you say so, detective.”

 

“Call me Nick.” He started forward. “Now let’s get on the road before ole’ Skinny decides to change his mind."

 

She followed, unfocused eyes following the bright orange of his cigarette.

 

_We're coming, Shaun. Hold on._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, right?
> 
> I really do love that damn Android Noir. He's fun to write. I'm looking forward to the two of them adventuring together. 
> 
> Thank you to all of my readers, Kudos-givers, and commenters. You guys make this so worth while. It means a lot to me :)


	8. Chasing Clues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where they follow Dogmeat's nose.

**Chapter 8: Chasing Clues**

 

A hand was shaking her awake.

 

“C’mon doll, it’s time to get your rump offa my couch.” The android towered over her, the gold of his eyes sweeping over her face. They lingered on the fading bruise on her cheek.

 

Nora had expected every motion to bring pain, but found, flexing various joints, that there wasn’t any. “This how you treat all of your house guests?” A hand smoothed over greasy clumps of hair, slicking them towards the crown of her head. The room was humid, and her body felt sticky trapped in the jumpsuit. Her toes brushed against Dogmeat’s fur and he yawned, licking her big toe in greeting.

 

“Only the ones that make me carry them the last mile of the road trip.” He stood, walking over to one of the paper-laden desks. “You’re heavier than you look, kid.”

 

“How long have I been asleep?” She stretched, a yawn escaping.

 

The detective was averting her gaze. “You loafed around on my couch for three days. I figured I’d better wake you up before you started growing mold.”

 

She wrinkled her nose in disgust, opening her mouth to protest.

 

“And before you start doggin’ me about it, yes, it was necessary for you to take a load off for a few days. Those thugs really chewed you up.” There was a softness to his tone, “Besides, if it wasn’t for you I might still be cooped up in that vault.”

 

He crossed the room again, pushing a glass of water towards her.

 

“Bathroom’s back there,” he gestured with a thumb towards the blue door in the back of the office. “Why don’t you, uh clean up. Then we can talk about your case.” He handed her a stack of clothing. “Ellie left these out for you.”

 

Nora unzipped the top of her jumpsuit, rubbing her neck tenderly. He winced at the fading marks. _Little spitfire, that one._ He had a good feeling about the case.

 

“Nick?” she had stopped in front of the bathroom, clutching the clean clothes.

 

“What is it?” he was absentmindedly pawing through files on the desk.

 

“Thank you.” The words filled the dusty office, and she disappeared through the blue door.

 

***

 

Nora thought about how strange it was to think of a shower as a luxury, but she had taken full advantage of Diamond City’s infamous hot water. The liquid circling the drain had stayed a grey brown for a long while and she watched the dirt, grime, and dried blood tornado down the hole. She’d even cleaned under her nails. Stepping out of the modest stall, she’d felt like a new person and she’d been thankful to Ellie for letting her borrow clothes.

 

The jeans and flannel shirt were comfortable against her skin. She’d grimaced at her reflection, buttoning the shirt up all the way in an attempt to cover the ugly bruising around her neck. The bruise on her cheek was in the purple and yellow stage, but seemed to be healing nicely. The skin on her knuckles was pink and raw from scraping against the subway station, but they would also heal in time. She’d had a sneaking suspicion that there was more at play in her recovery than her white blood cells.

 

The sole survivor exited the bathroom along with a cloud of steam.

 

“You sure you left enough hot water for the rest of Diamond City?” He was leaning back in his office chair, feet up on the desk. She considered the detective for a moment. _It’s like he stepped right out of an old noir film._ Trenchcoat, fedora, and a constant chain of cigarettes, Nick Valentine was quite a character.

 

“C’mon over and take a seat, kid. Let’s get down to business.” He returned his feet to the floor, adjusting himself in the chair. She sank into the seat opposite him, heaving a sigh.

 

“I have to ask you something before we start.” Nora was picking at her fingers.

 

“Go on.” He shot her a knowing glance.

 

“Just what are you, Nick?” The curiosity was genuine.

 

“You really don’t know?” His eyes were studying her face again. “I’m a synth. Synthetic man. All the parts, minus a few red blood cells.” He continued, “I got built, I got old, I got tossed. Then I opened up this little agency in Diamond City and it turns out people have plenty of problems to solve.”

 

The synth detective cleared his throat, changing the subject.

 

“Now, let’s hop to it. When you’re trying to find someone who’s gone missing, the devil is in the details. Tell me everything you can, no matter how…painful it might be.”

 

Nora unloaded everything she could remember on the man, the two of them piecing together clues. She’d breathed steadily through her nose, pushing the difficult emotions down. When he’d finally come to the end of his line of questioning, he had puzzled out several key details.

 

 _The people that took Shaun were professionals. It wasn’t a random encounter. They were organized._ She turned the facts over in her head, beginning to feel overwhelmed. _The Institute_. She’d heard the term whispered around Diamond City. Nick had shed a good amount of light on their distrust of strangers. Institute synth clones were replacing people, but no one knew why. It was a terrifying thought.

 

Grey eyes traced the contours of his face, pausing at the spaces created by broken skin. _Prototype_. _Trash._ She felt sadness at the words, sensing the grief it caused him to have no recollection of where he came from.

 

He piped up with one last question. “Let’s focus on what you _saw_. What did these kidnappers look like?”

 

Nora closed her eyes, probing her mind. She’d lay awake countless nights after escaping the vault, recalling the image of her husband’s killer. _Tall, bald, scar across his left eye. Deep, scratchy voice. Loud, angry gun._ She recounted the details, the heat of anger climbing up her chest and spreading across her cheeks.

 

“Wait. It couldn’t be… You didn’t hear the name _Kellogg_ at all, did you?”

 

She shook her head, looking lost.

“Hmm… It’s way too big of a coincidence.” He met her gaze. “There was a case a while back- a merc by the name of Kellogg. Bought a house in town, and had a ten year old kid in tow. Both of them vanished a while ago, and haven’t been seen since.”

 

Being a good detective meant being able to read people and act accordingly. Her eyes were dark, but he could sense she needed to stretch her legs. Do something. She needed answers, and he was going to do his damndest to help her find them.

 

He stood abruptly, headed for the door and grabbing her hat in one hand. “Let’s you and I take a walk over to Kellogg’s last known address. See if we can snoop out where he went.” He tossed the hat at her with a grin. She caught it awkwardly, and pulled it to her ears, grabbing her gun belt and holding the door for Dogmeat.

 

***

 

Kellogg’s abandoned home was set up similarly to the detective agency, a large main floor on the bottom with a small loft above. There was enough room for a narrow console, side table, and a twin bed. She might have thought it cozy if they’d had a different reason for breaking into it. The lone light source hummed with electricity, casting odd shadows in corners.

 

“Let’s take look around. Kellogg must’ve left something behind.” The synth was in full on detective mode, his glowing eyes scanning the room mechanically.

 

Nora took the stairs to the loft two at a time, leaving Dogmeat sniffing around the bottom floor. She lifted the mattress, rifled through drawers, and eyeballed the clutter on the tabletop. _Nothing._

 

“This place seem small to you?” his words echoed in the empty space. The android was spinning in a slow circle, his eyes roaming the walls. “By the look of the outside, this place should be bigger.” Something was off. “Look for anything out of sorts. A switch. A button.”

 

She descended, heading for the desk at the end of the stairs. Rounding the corner, she saw it: a glowing red button under the desktop. “Nick!” her voice was urgent. “I think I found something.” She jammed her palm into the glowing button, and there was a peal of metal on metal as the hidden door slid away to reveal the mercenary’s secret arsenal.

 

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about. All of Kellogg’s favorite things.” His head was turning circles as he mentally catalogued the objects in the room.

 

Goosebumps rose on Nora’s skin in spite of the stuffiness of the room. _He was here. The murderer who took my son was here._ She was angry at the idea of Kellogg sitting casually in the tufted leather chair, smoking what appeared to be cigars and drinking beer. She picked up a bottle and smashed it against the floor.

 

“When I find that piece of shit, I’m going to kill him.” Her voice never wavered, but the pitch was low and dangerous.

 

“If Kellogg really is the one who kidnapped your son, he’s dangerous.” He put a hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “But so are you. You don’t need to be afraid of him or anything else the Commonwealth throws at you.”

 

Nora was surprised at the compliment. Leave it to an android private eye to make her feel confident again after tussling with Skinny Malone’s gang and nearly losing. The truth was, they’d escaped by the skin of their respective sets of teeth and she’d felt her resolve waver. If the venerable synth detective thought her capable, then she was. She trusted his judgment. A small part of her pondered how it had happened so quickly.

 

Nick picked up the San Francisco Sunlight, rolling it around in his fingers. “Interesting brand.” Dogmeat barked beside him, wagging his tail eagerly. “You know, a Commonwealth mutt like him can track a man’s scent for miles. Why don’t you give him a whiff? See if he picks up the trail?”

 

She gripped her chin. “I hadn’t thought about that.” Fingers grasped another cigar from the table, holding it out for Dogmeat to sniff. He approached cautiously, nosing over the stogie. Tail wagging, he woofed, ears perking up.

 

“Looks like the mutt’s got the scent.” She could hear the smile in Nick’s voice.

 

She patted his head, stroking the longer fur on his neck. His tail continued to wag, and he licked her hand. It was still a strange sensation to feel him lapping at her. Nora had never had a proper pet growing up. Her parents hadn’t wanted pet hair on the furniture. She and Nate had meant to get a dog, but after Shaun was born there just hadn’t been time.

 

“Good boy.” She stood, looking around the small room and focusing on the supplies. Her hands were on her hips.

 

Nick spoke to her back. “Look, eh-I know this is personal business. If you have to face Kellogg on your own, just say so.”

 

She turned slowly on her heels, meeting him with a smile. “And let you miss out on all the fun? C’mon Valentine, we’ve come this far. I like having you in my corner.”

 

“Happy to be there, kid.” He changed the subject, suddenly uncomfortable with the intimacy of the conversation. “What’s say you pack up Kellogg’s secret stash and we get outta this dump?” He flicked the brim of her hat, turning to raid the ammunition boxes on the rusted shelf.

***

They’d hit the trail, Nora’s pack weighed down with supplies. She’d stopped back in at the agency for her armor, but had been unwilling to wear the filthy jumpsuit. Ellie had offered to wash it while they were gone, and she’d thanked the woman kindly for her assistance.

 

Dogmeat was cantering down the road. They’d had to stop several times to pick up the trail, the latest clue being a smashed up assaultron on the side of the road. Nick had helped to vanquish a small army of feral ghouls holed up in a defunct bus much to her relief. They still touched the nerves of her primal fears, but it had been easier to shoot them this time. Nick hadn’t failed to notice the look in her eyes as she pulled the trigger repeatedly, and it gave him pause.

 

The trio had made it into a small town, and Dogmeat trotting towards the steps of Fort Hagen, woofing at the fortified front entrance. There was a faint sound, like a spring winding up, and a haze of bullets rained towards them. The dog was smart, and ducked onto the porch of the building, watching Nick and Nora apprehensively.

 

“Looks like Kellogg is expecting visitors.” Nick was aiming his pistol at the mark II turret, bullets whizzing past him to the ground below. He squeezed the trigger twice, the bullets finding their mark with a loud explosion. Shrapnel flew in every direction, the remains still flaming.

 

She jogged up the stairs, checking on the dog. He was panting frenetically, their steep pace taking a toll on him.

 

“We should leave the mutt behind. He needs a break after all that sleuthing.” Nick had pulled the pack of cigarettes from his trenchcoat pocket, tapping them against his fleshy palm. “There’s bound to be more of those turrets around the perimeter, and he’s not a tin can like me.” He lit the cigarette, blowing smoke out his nostrils.

 

Nora looked between the two of them. Dogmeat looked exhausted. _I can’t have the dog’s death on my conscience._ She stooped low, scratching behind his ear. “Stay here boy. Me and the robot are on it.”

 

He yipped, giving her hand a slimy lick. She made a face, wiping the saliva on an exposed piece of denim. “Be good.”

 

She and Nick moved to walk the perimeter of the building. The turrets clicked, and the pair could hear them scanning for targets.

 

“Sounds like they’re at the corners. If we stick close to the building, then we can run up that scaffolding in the back and take them out quickly.” The detective had an eye for detail.

 

She nodded, following him. Making their way around the building, they stepped carefully up the ramp of the scaffolding, trying to target the turret before it could catch them. Four shots later, it was a flaming pile of scrap like its predecessor. They jogged the length of the roof, looking for more traps. Her eyes fell on the black storm doors parallel to the roof. _This is it. I’m coming, Shaun._ She took a deep breath and swung the hatch open, metallic groans meeting her ears.

 

“Careful kid. We don’t know what’s waitin’ for us down there. Be on your guard.”

 

Somehow he knew just how to phrase things to diffuse her reckless impulses. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she stepped prudently down the stairs, pistol in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: taking out some Kellogg trash.
> 
> Yeah.
> 
> Weird note: I totally wore his armor after killing him in my game.   
> Other weird note: Why do all of the clothes fit you no matter what? Is it a MAGIC apocalypse?
> 
> *shrug* It's Friday.


	9. What's Coming to Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where she kills Kellogg.

**Chapter 9: What’s Coming to Him**

 

She leaned against the decrepit concrete wall, panting. The smell of singed flesh crept into her nostrils, and she looked at the burn marks across her front. One of them was still smoking, and she patted it with a hand to put it out. She and Valentine had left a trail of synthetic corpses throughout the labyrinth Kellogg had set up. They had specialized laser weapons, and she’d used up their stash of projectiles before she knew it.

 

Nora wondered how uncomfortable it made Nick to pull the trigger on them, and shook her head to dismiss the thought. _Now is not the time_.

 

Kellogg’s voice was rasping over the loudspeaker again- they were close. She thought about the clues they had pieced together, and what the detective had shared about the mercenary’s background. How many years of practice did he have being a mercenary? It scared her. But decision had already been made: she would even the odds chemically. She sent Nick to unlock the terminal on the wall to keep him busy. They hadn’t known each other very long, but she knew his attitudes about using chems and the idea of disappointing him bothered her.

 

The purple-filled syringe slid easily from her pocket, and she ripped the protective plastic tip off with her teeth, spitting it to the side and stabbing needle into her thigh. The plunger slid down, and a pleasant haze descended on her. Everything felt…lighter. The searing pain of the burns faded into the cloud, drifting away from her. The room went wavy for a minute, and she blinked, rubbing her eyes to chase the blurriness away. She prayed the Med-X would last long enough to get her through the fight.

 

The security lock opened with a click, and Nick gave her a thumbs-up. She moved into the security closet and cleared out the ammunition boxes she found, taking a moment to reload the pistol.

 

Nick’s face was somber. “Are you ready?”

 

She smiled grimly. “As I’ll ever be.” Inside she was screaming.

 

***

 

“And there she is, the most resilient woman in the Commonwealth.” Kellogg stood a head taller than Nora, wearing a road-worn leather jacket. Heavy armor covered his left arm, and she noted the familiar .44 at his side. “You came a long way. Let’s hear it.” A look of amusement played across his pinched features, and she felt the heat of anger flooding her cheeks.

 

 _Careful honey, he’s playing you like a fiddle_. Nick couldn’t voice the thought, lest he give Kellogg _more_ of an advantage.

 

“Enough. Just…” she faltered,” Where is my baby?” Her mouth was a thin line, her pistol at the ready.

 

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Lady, I’m just a puppet like you. My stage is a little bigger, that’s all.” He met her steely gaze, and she saw the world-weariness behind his eyes. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that the end goal was to kill her, but he seemed… tired.

 

“Shaun’s a good kid. So maybe he’s not quite a baby anymore. But he’s doing great. Only… he’s not here.” He paused, formulating the thought. “He’s with the people pulling the strings.”

 

The anger was turning to rage. “Goddamnit you mercenary motherfucker. Where. Is. My. Son?!” she spat each syllable, white-knuckling the grip of her gun. The information dealt a duel blow, but each piece had already been forced to a deep corner of her mind.

 

“What’s the cliché? So close, yet so far away? That’s Shaun.” He was toying with her now. “But don’t worry. You’ll die knowing he’s safe and happy. A bit _older_ than you expected, but ah well. At least he’s in a loving home. The Institute.” He’d taken care to emphasize the last part, noting the look of horror that washed over the widow’s face.

 

“So where is it? Where is this _Institute_?”

 

“Haven’t you been paying attention? _You_ don’t find the Institute. The _Institute_ finds you. _”_ Nora saw him getting bored. Everything about him screamed that he was a man of action, not pretty words. “But I think we’ve been talking long enough. We both know how this has to end.” Narrowed black eyes danced with anticipation. This would be the end of the niceties. “So… you ready?”

 

“Oh I’m ready.” Her voice was dangerous, and almost gave the merc pause. “Question is, are you?”

 

The rain of pale laser fire was instantaneous, and she felt the bolts skimming and sizzling against her. Nick maneuvered behind her, firing several shots and falling a synth to her right. None of this registered in her brain. All she could see was Kellogg as she emptied the clip, until she couldn’t.

 

 _He just disappeared!_ She saw faint movement out of the corner of her eye. A shape shimmered through the air like heat on pavement.

 

Kellogg dove to a corner of the desk, moving away from the frenzied mother. He was impressed at her recklessness, but none of it would matter in the end. She’d be dead, and he’d go back to his life running tainted errands for the Institute. He raised the revolver, approximating her in the sights. The benefits of the Stealth Boy outweighed the cost to accuracy. He pulled the trigger and the bullet exploded out of the chamber, finding its mark.

 

The force of the bullet knocked the top half of her body backward, and she staggered, arm instinctively feeling at the point of impact. The Med-X cloud continued to swirl the pain away, and she straightened, firing a volley of lead his direction with a guttural howl.

 

The aged mercenary was taken by genuine surprise. Something gripped at his heart that he’d not felt in many years: fear. The outcome was no longer guaranteed. Something about that made him smile, 10mm bullets whizzing around his head.

 

“Fuck.” There was a shocking sensation at his hip, and he flicked his glance to the smoking remains of the Stealth Boy, his body now fully visible. He rolled across the floor, springing to his feet. The look on her face was pure rage. Blood dribbled from the hole below her collarbone. _Aim was off_. He grunted.

 

The opponents were feet from each other, pistols raised. With a trained eye, he looked her over. A cold sweat plastered her forehead, and she was blowing air from her nostrils at an unsteady pace. The gold band was still in place on her finger. _Shouldn’t have left her alive, Institute orders be damned._ The woman looked like hell.

 

She squeezed the trigger, the telltale clicking making her eyes go wide. _Out of ammo._ Nora acted on the untapped primal rage that she’d managed to keep at bay. _Too long_. Her rational voice escaped to the back of her mind, watching the fight unfold through the berserker’s eyes.

 

 _Someone flipped a switch on the bitch_ , he thought to himself, their bodies falling backward in slow motion to the floor. She’d lunged with the pistol, bringing it down on his nose with a sickening crack. The pain made his eyes water, the distinctly female form on top of him blurry. She savaged at his face, both hands gripping his neck. His head slammed into the floor several times before he’d managed to shove her forcefully from of him. _My gun. Where is my gun_? Eagle eyes scanned the floor, ready to dive for it.

 

The familiar click of the .44 was in his ear, and a painful heat bloomed from his chest. He touched his fingers to his breast, and they came away red.

 

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, kid.” He chuckled, doubling over and crumpling to the floor. The light had gone from his eyes.

 

The sole survivor moved mechanically, ignoring the blue streaks aimed her direction. She walked with purpose, pulling the heavy revolved from her side and squeezing the trigger. Once, twice, and the synth’s head was shrapnel across the floor. She’d taken out the last handful, the leather armor smoking.

 

A hand was on her shoulder, and she spun like a wild animal, ready to rip and tear into synth. Nick Valentine’s eyes were wide, his mouth moving rapidly.

 

Her rational mind grabbed at the beast, throwing the rage back down into her chest, and she was staring into the detective’s glowing yellow eyes, his voice coming back to her ears.

 

“Whoa there, tiger. It’s alright.” His face was unreadable. “Are you ok?” His fingers grazed the hole below her collarbone, pain coming into sharp focus. She nodded numbly, the edges of her vision going blurry.

 

“Stay with me kid,” the alarmed voice sounded far away, and she felt herself falling into blackness, Kellogg’s dead eyes boring into her.

 

***

Hushed voices drifted through her ears, pulling her back to consciousness. The first sensation was pain. It was everywhere. She groaned, eyelids rolling upward. The light was harsh, and her head was throbbing. An ancient memory of a hangover surfaced. _This is so much worse_.

 

The two figures stopped their animated chatter, turning their attention to her.

 

“Hey Blue. How ya feelin’?” Piper’s bright eyes looked her over, lingering on the bandage over her chest and shoulder.

 

Nora struggled to sit up, every movement sending pain shooting through her. “Like shit, Piper.” The retort was biting, and she felt a pang of guilt.

 

Piper hadn’t noticed, and continued in her overzealous way. “So what happened?”

 

Nora looked at Nick, questioning. The detective put his hands up defensively. “Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t tell this newshound anything.”

 

Pride bloomed in her chest at that. She was impressed that he respected her enough to dodge the reporter’s questioning tactics.

 

Nora’s voice was acerbic. “Where do you want me to start? The part where Kellogg turned out to be working for the Institute? Or the part where he told me they have Shaun?”

 

“The Institute? Hoo boy…” the reporter put a finger to her lips, thinking. “Heck, Nick’s a synth and he doesn’t even know how to get in.”

 

The detective piped up at that. “No synth does. Security protocols strip those memories out.”

 

“You don’t know anything, Nick?” Nora’s voice was small.

 

Piper jumped in, “Sometimes they snatch people in the middle of the night. And sometimes they leave old synths behind to remind us that they’re out there. But to this day, there’s one thing that nobody really knows…”

 

“Where the Institute actually is. Or how to get in.” he finished her thought, his tattered face morose.

 

Nora sighed, slicking her hair back.

 

Piper’s next words were hopeful. “There’s one person who must know, right?” her eyes were bright. “The guy who just handed them Shaun.”

 

“Kellogg huh?” the detective glanced her direction.

 

Hearing his name out loud made Nora freeze, the image of his lifeless eyes staring her down. “What about him?” she asked coldly.

 

The detective had picked up on her discomfort. “He’s not exactly available for a chin wag, Piper.”

 

“So a murderer and a kidnapper gets his brains blown out by an avenging parent.” She sighed, squeezing her forehead between her thumb and index finger. “It’d be a great ending if we didn’t still have the biggest mystery in the Commonwealth to solve.”

 

The gears were turning in synth’s head. “Brains, huh? You know, we may not need the man at all.”

 

“You’re talkin’ crazy here Nick. Got a fault in the old subroutines?” Piper knocked a fist against her head in pantomime.  

 

“Look, there’s a place in Goodneighbor called the Memory Den. Relive your past memories as sharp as the day you lived ‘em.” Nora leaned forward, hope making its way back into her chest. “If anybody could get a dead brain to sing, it’ll be Doctor Amari.

 

“Don’t you need a brain to access memories?” Nora was staring at him. He’d left something out, and she wanted to know what he was keeping back.

 

He couldn’t meet her gaze. “Before I got you outta there, I searched Kellogg for clues. He had some kind of cybernetic device in his head, so I pocketed it.”

 

“Aw, gross Nick!” Piper was making a face, but the detective’s eyes were on Nora.

 

“What’s with the hard look? Say something.”

 

“How far away is Goodneighbor?” he was afraid she’d ask that. The woman was hardly fit for travel, and he’d had a sneaking suspicion she wasn’t going to let him reason with her.

 

Valentine’s fingers busied themselves with lighting a cigarette. “It’s deeper in the city. No telling what we’ll run into on the way. We’d be chasing our tails in the dark.” He tried to steer the safer course. She wasn’t biting.

 

Piper excused herself awkwardly, mumbling something about research. “You still owe me that interview.” Her index finger pointed Nora’s direction, and she slipped out the red door.

 

Nora was tugging the freshly laundered jumpsuit on, the zipper snaking up her front to her neck. He’d looked away, a sense of propriety tugging at him. He crossed the dusty room to a battered desk, pulling something substantial from the drawer. He stepped back to her, the metallic armor in tow.

 

“I swiped this off of that maniac. Yours had seen the last of its days. I understand if you don’t want it.”

 

She accepted the shoulder piece and arm guards, running a thumb over the steel. She wasn’t sure how to feel about it, but there wasn’t time for sentimentality. Where they’d assumed the trail had gone cold, here was another lead. The sole survivor wasn’t about to let it languish.

 

“This was next to him too. I couldn’t find your pea shooter.” Nora’s hand wrapped around the grip of the revolver. It was heavy. _Deadly_. The moment was on repeat in her mind. The bullet tore through his chest so easily, his body doubled over, and his eyes. _Dead eyes. I killed him._

_You did more than that_ \- She cupped her hands over her ears, willing Kellogg’s voice away.

 

“Nora?” Nick was eyeing her cautiously. He kneeled down next to her, placing a hand on her knee. “We don’t have to go runnin’ out of here like the buildings on fire.”

 

Steel grey eyes burned into him, and her voice was firm. “I’m not changing my mind Nick. I- we have to keep moving.”

 

The android was torn, and for the second time he pushed concerns about her state of mind aside.

 

“Well suit up then, kid. We got a date with a doctor.” His smile was uneasy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD WE'RE FINALLY GONNA GET TO HANCOCK. It only took 10 chapters, folks. Thanks for sticking with me!
> 
> If you're impatient, feel free to check out It's a Man: A Series of Hancock Drabbles (Mature)


	10. Goodneighbor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where they go to the Memory Den.

**Chapter 10: Goodneighbor**

 

Pain clawed with curling tendrils at the sole survivor. The patched-up hole in her chest was weeping. She could feel the protests of tender flesh chafing against the gauze. The Stimpak had stitched the flesh back together, but she’d refused to rest. A whispered question in the back of her mind troubled her. _Med-X?_ She thought of Nate, steeling her resolve, pushing forward. _What would he think of all this?_

 

Nick had fallen in step beside her, his glowing eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of trouble. He didn’t like travelling with her in this shape, but she hadn’t given him the choice. The android felt partially responsible for her injuries. He’d known the type of man Kellogg was, and he’d lead her to him anyway. The Institute synths had blocked his path to her side during the firefight, and she’d been left to face the veteran on her own. The detective wasn’t sure that he could live down that guilt. It was part of why he’d stuck by her side. Why he’d let her drag him to Goodneighbor, undeterred by her injuries.

 

The match flashed to life and he touched it to the end of the long-stale cigarette, inhaling deeply. There was movement up ahead, and he put an arm out, guiding her to the side of the building, crouching in the shadows.

 

“Look kid, we’re gonna have to do this the stealthy way. Today’s not the day to take on the world.” His voice was stern. “Let me take a look at that old wrist-computer.”

 

She held her arm out while he probed the map, working out several alternate routes.

 

“Ok, I got it. We’re gonna stick to the shadows and play this thing tight to the chest.” He turned his golden eyes on her. “If we get separated, remember that the city’s just a big grid. Follow me.”

 

There were numerous detours. Super Mutants on one corner, raiders on the other. They’d been spotted by the green titans, and sprinted the rest of the way to the corrugated steel walls and relative safety of Goodneighbor.

 

The slamming of metal on metal met her ears, as they threw the gate open and closed. Her lungs burned. She sucked in deep breaths of air, hands on her knees. There were stabbing pains below her collarbone, and she grimaced, holding a hand to the wound.

 

“Still breathin’ over there, kid?” there was a line of sweat beading on her brow and she was clutching at the bullet wound. He tugged at the pack, feeling her shrug it from her shoulders. “My turn to be the pack Brahmin.”

 

She chuckled, straightening her posture. “It’s all yours, metal man.” Her eyes roamed the square in front of them. Figures in suits held guns, their eyes prowling the cobblestones. _Guards._ There were two shops directly ahead, the side of one forming a narrow alley with the Statehouse opposite.

 

A considerable man approached as the pair walked into town. He was at least a head taller than the android, covered in leather, his hair shorn tight to his head. A cigarette played between his lips.

 

“Hold up there.” His voice sounded like he swallowed whole nails at mealtimes. “First time in Goodneighbor? Can’t go walkin’ around without _insurance_.”

 

Nora’s hand went the heavy piece on her hip. “Unless it’s keep-dumb-assholes-away-from-me insurance, I’m not interested.” She knew his type- all bark, no bite.

“Now don’t be like that. I think you’re going to like what I have on offer.” He blew a cloud of smoke towards her face. “You hand over everything you got in them pockets, or _accidents_ start happening to ya’. Big, bloody accidents.”

 

Her grip on the revolver tightened, but before she could draw the weapon a voice rasped from behind them.

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Time out.” The figure stepped out from the shadows of the alley, the street lamp illuminating his deformed features. He swaggered over to the sizeable man, a sense of authority in his tone. She wasn’t sure which she found more off-putting, his face or the flamboyant getup he’d wrapped himself in. The red velvet frock coat had seen better days. There were threadbare spots at the shoulders, and it was covered with a fine layer of post-apocalyptic grime. The linen flounce of his shirt collar blossomed from behind the embroidered blue waistcoat, and the unmistakable pattern of an American flag was knotted at his waist. He’d topped off the whole ridiculous getup with a tricorn hat.

 

“Someone steps through the gate the first time, they’re a guest. You lay off that extortion crap.” He practically spat the words at her heckler, and turned his gaze on the synth. “Hey Nick.”

 

“Hancock.” Valentine tipped his hat.

 

“What do you care? She ain’t one of us.” Finn was staring down his nose at the Ghoul, biting back angry words.

 

His grin was confident. “No love for your mayor, Finn? I said let her go.” The politician’s tone was almost amiable.

 

The big man lost his temper. “You’re soft, Hancock. You keep letting outsiders walk all over us. One day, there’ll be a new mayor.” His tone betrayed him, the threat clear.

 

“C’mon man, this is _me_ we’re talking about. Let me tell you something.” He made to place a hand on the man’s shoulder, while the other snaked to the back of his colonial trousers. It was instant- the blade reflected the low light and plunged into Finn’s guts once, then again. His oversized form came crashing down, blood pooling between the filthy cobblestones.

 

“Why’d you have to go and say that, huh? Breaking my heart over here.” Coal-black eyes met hers. “You alright, sister?”

 

Nora stood, eyes narrowed. They swept his features, and she felt the familar pinprick of panic that she’d come to associate with the radioactive undead that attacked people in the wasteland. “You- you’re a Ghoul?” Her brow was furrowed, and she held the revolver in front of her, having drawn it when she caught sight of the knife.

 

“That’s right. Like my face? I think it gives me a sexy, king of the zombies kinda look.” He eyed her up and down. “Big hit with the ladies.”

 

No trace of amusement played on her features, her left brow cocked like a gun ready to fire.

 

“Listen,” he pulled out a faded pack of cigarettes and a flip lighter from his ridiculous pockets. “Lot of walking rad freaks like me around here, so you might want to keep those kinds of questions on the low burner next time.” He clasped the cigarette with his mouth, bringing the lighter to it, and closing it with a metallic click.

 

He breathed a cloud of smoke into the chilly evening air. “Goodneighbor’s of the people, for the people, you feel me?” His eyes were hard. “Everyone’s welcome here.”

 

 _“Whether you like it or not,”_ she finished mentally, bringing the gun back to the holster and shoving it down.

 

“Of the people, for the people?” was what she actually said, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. Nora had dealt with his type before. John Hancock was the kind of guy who thought his charisma paid the fare for his egocentric, inappropriate conduct. She wanted him to know that his suave routine wasn’t impressive.

 

Much to her chagrin, he was chuckling at her. “I can tell I’m going to like you already.” His black eyes revealed a startling confidence, and his voice was velvet. “Just consider this town your home away from home.”

 

Nora could swear he’d _winked_ at her before his coattails had swirled away.

 

“So long as you remember who’s in charge,” He tossed the warning over his shoulder, and she felt her stomach knot. _Not a man you want to cross_.

 

 

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire.” Nick Valentine spoke up from beside her. “We’re going to need a room for the night. Memory Den’s gotta be closed at this hour.”

 

She sighed, releasing the tension in her shoulders and running a hand over the stubble at the back of her head. “Lead the way, detective.”

 

Her acquiescence was a relief, and he started forward, chuckling at the interaction with the mayor. Nora’s eyes followed Hancock’s lithe form as he disappeared into the statehouse noticing the orange-haired woman for the first time. Her eyes were cold and burned through the sole survivor- a warning. She followed him inside, slamming the door.

 

“You know that jackass?” she was incredulous.

 

“I’ve tracked a lot of runaway spouses to this heathen’s den. Got myself a bit of a reputation here, and Hancock decided to introduce himself.” He chuckled, old memories playing through his robotic brain. “Let’s just say he has me on retainer.”

 

***

The blankets twisted around her legs, wrapping like hands around her throat. She sat up, gulping in air, the sheets twisting in her grip. Most of the dream had been a dark blur, but she remembered Kellogg’s dead eyes burning into her, sinking into his face while his features twisted and melted and he became a ghoul. The wet gurgles in his throat while he came at her, slamming fists and claws into flesh, ripping and tearing.

 

The room was silent except for her heavy breaths. Nick, having no need for sleep, had headed down to the Third Rail to give her some time alone. Pain shot through her shoulder as she slumped forward, sliding from the tangled sheets. She padded towards the bathroom, the sickly green of the fluorescents exacerbating her grim appearance. The bruises around her neck were all but gone. Her cheek was no longer swollen. It was the eyes staring back that scared her. There had been joy in her face once, and now- _Lookin’ a little rough around the edges, lady._ She covered her ears reflexively, shutting out the merc’s voice. _You can’t drown out what’s inside your head._ The voice faded, leaving her staring at herself in the mirror. She felt an urge pulling at her, and opened the cabinet. The syringe glittered in the sickly light, and she’d stuck herself before she could think better of it. The Med-X pulled her pain away in a heady cloud, and she was suddenly exhausted. She shoved the empty syringe in an unused dresser drawer, and crawled into the bed, wrapping herself in blankets.

***

 

A middle-aged woman in an elaborate dress lounged seductively on the chaise lounge directly ahead of them. Her blonde hair was pulled into a tight quaff, and she was purring at the synth detective while Nora took in the room.

 

There were several pods stationed in a circle around the front room, most of them empty. Nick had told her a little more about the Memory Den while she was getting ready. She’d seen the pity in his eyes when he talked about the “poor bastards” who couldn’t handle the ugliness of the waste anymore, and spent all their time and caps reliving the past. It bothered her that she saw the allure in it. _I’m never getting into one of those chairs._ She could see Nate in her mind, and imagined their conversation.

 

“ _You gotta make the best of what you have, honey. Don’t dwell in the past.” He’d cup her face the way he always did when something was gnawing at her. “You have the power to change this world for the better. You’re doing good things”_

 

Her smile was sad, and she found that she’d been fidgeting with the chain around her neck, sliding the gold band back and forth.

 

“Doctor Amani is downstairs,” Irma’s voice had a low, sultry quality. Nora chuckled at the look on the synthetic man’s face.

 

“May have walked out of the den, but I’d never walk out on you.” He shot the woman his best noir-detective smile, heading for the stairs.

 

The doctor wore a Vault Tech lab coat over a knee-length skirt. Nora couldn’t place her accent, but no-nonsense translated into any language. She seemed harried, and barked the statement at her.

 

“I take it this isn’t a social call.” She looked at Nora expectantly.

 

“This one’s all yours, Nick.” Nora gestured to the synth.

 

“We need a memory dig Amari.” His gold eyes were moving over the doctor’s face. “It’s not going to be easy. The perp, Kellogg is already cold on the floor.”

 

She looked offended. “Are you two mad? Putting aside the fact that you’re asking me to _defile a corpse_ , you do realize that the memory simulators require intact, _living_ brains to function?”

 

Nora spoke up, a look of desperation on her face. “Please. Nick told me you’re the only one who can make this work.”

 

Something in her resolve broke. “Fine… I’ll take a look, but no guarantees.” Her voice was kinder, “Do you have it with you?”

 

Nick dug a strange looking object from his pocket, handing it to Amari. “Here’s what I could find.”

 

She twisted it around in her fingers, muttering scientific jargon to herself. “A neuro interface. The technology looks familiar.” She eyed Valentine, comparing to two. She stepped towards one of the lab tables, setting the part down gingerly. “This is an incredible risk to take. We’re talking about wiring something to his brain. It’s going to take me some time to figure out how to interface the two of them.”

 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Nora's eyes were glassy.

 

“I’m well past the warranty date, anyhow.” Nick smiled, shrugging off her worries.

 

“Thank you, Nick.” The widow was at a loss.

 

“You can thank me once we’ve found your son.” He clapped a hand on her shoulder. “The real question is, what’re you gonna do without this old dog around for the next couple’a days?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the next few arcs rolling around in my brain. It's really funny that I am now frustrating myself with the pace of this. I'm super excited to write more Hancock, and I just want to GET TO IT! 
> 
> Coming up next: The Pickman Gallery and a walk through Kellogg's memories.  
> Thanks for reading ;)


	11. Get a Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where she gets a job.

**Chapter 11: Get a Job**

 

Nora was at a loss. It was a strange feeling being on her own again, even if it was only for a few days. She missed Dogmeat, but they’d decided it was for the best to leave him with Ellie; it kept him out of harm’s way. The cap stash had gotten low despite her cost-cutting measures, and the sole survivor found herself actively looking for work. _Think they’ll ignore a 200-year gap in employment?_   She chuckled to herself, hearing the joke in Nick’s voice in her head.

 

“I wonder how they’re doing?” she asked no one in particular. It had only been a few hours, but she was anxious about Nick. She needed something to get her mind off of the whole situation. A purpose.

 

Hancock prowled down the street, seemingly without purpose, and that’s how he liked it. He’d spotted the new girl wandering the streets of Goodneighbor without her synthetic companion, and his interest was piqued.

 

His voice was in her ear as he fell in step beside her. “Too bad about Finn. Gonna miss him next Super Mutant attack rolls ‘round. Oh well, what can I do for our newcomer?”

 

The sudden sound of his voice startled her. She stopped mid-step. “You always this hospitable to strangers?”

 

“Nah, but I make exceptions for friends of friends.” He was curious about ole Nicky, but he wasn’t going to ask.

 

 _So that’s his game_. With nothing else to do, she decided to humor the ghoul. “Nick’s working on… a project. So I’m looking for work.”

 

“I’ll tell you what. I got reconnaissance needs. There’s a lot of weird talk coming in about a place called the Pickman Gallery.” He was lighting a cigarette while he talked, gesturing with it in his hand. “It’s Raider territory up there but they’ve been quiet. Like, uncomfortable, post-coitus quiet?” He paused for emphasis, inhaling and blowing smoke. “Snoop it out, and give me the word.”

 

She put a thoughtful finger to her chin. “I might be interested... Let’s talk money.”

 

“Usual fee is 200, but I like you so let’s push it to 250.” He tapped the end of his cigarette sending ash floating towards the ground, a grin on his face.

 

She was going to out-negotiate the cocksure politician. “You said things had gone quiet up there. That means more risks to cover.” Her eyes danced with amusement. She loved being able to mentally out-maneuver the competition.

 

“I like where your head’s at, let’s make it 300 caps.” He was taking it in stride, impressed at her brass.

 

 _Now go in for the kill_. Her face was self-assured. “If you can’t put real money on the table, I’m out.” She glanced at her fingernails, picking at a stray piece of skin and looking bored.

 

“Ruthless!” He pantomimed being shot in the chest, entertained. “You might actually live long enough for me to pay you.” His eyes were taunting- the mayor knew when he was being toyed with, but he always caved to a pretty face. “All right, 400 caps. But that’s all the town coffers can bare.” His tone had a finality to it that told Nora it was time to stop.

 

She couldn’t resist one last dig, dancing around the offer. “What else can you tell me about the Pickman Gallery?”

 

A ring of smoke rose into the air. He was finished with the game. “Nothing. That’s why I’m paying you to go out there.”

 

“I’ll do it.” She grinned, giving a mock-salute. “Scout out Pickman Gallery. On it.”

 

His voice was authoritative. “Be thorough, ok? I’m not paying for a look-see. Find out what’s really going on there.” With that he’d turned on his heel and headed for the statehouse without so much as a backward glance.

 

Nora was turning the information over in her head. It was a matter of personal pride that she’d been able to persuade the mayor of Goodneighbor to pay double his original offer. Brought her back to her days of going to bat for her clients. She’d always been able to convince the opposite side that her clients not only needed more, they _deserved_ it. Something like homesickness beat in her chest as she realized she missed it. Representing people that needed her had given her purpose in another life. She wasn’t sure what that purpose was now. _Find Shaun._ _But what happens when you find him? Then what?_

 

She was thankful for the long walk to the reconnaissance point.

 

***

A Molotov cocktail was cartwheeling through the air headed straight for the unsuspecting raiders in the little alcove. The sound of shattering glass and screams erupted, and she’d picked off the last of the burning raiders who stumbled into her path. The building didn’t seem like much from the outside. There were no clear benefits to the location over other brownstones in the city, and she found herself wondering what exactly had gone quiet, having dispatched the raider troupe.

 

Nora stepped over the charred remains of a fiend, hand reaching for the doorknob. She pressed her ear against the door, listening. The bullet wound was still causing her discomfort, but she’d had little time to think about it while sneaking her way across town.

 

The biggest reason she’d even agreed to the job at all was because it was just reconnaissance. She was confident in her ability to evade the monsters prowling the Commonwealth by herself, and predicted that poking around would be an easier paycheck than most.

 

There were some muffled sounds coming from behind the door, and she twisted the knob slowly, the door whining on its hinges. She cringed at the noise, and crept inside quickly, swinging the door back into the frame. There was movement on the stairs above, and she dove into the doorless entryway to her left, eyes going wide at the sight. In the center of the room was an altar of gore. Deranged paintings hung around the oversized room, painted in shades of red and yellow. They were violent and savage. Several coffins lined the walls, framing dead raiders pieced into grim assemblages.

 

 _What the fuck is this place?_ She felt sick, the smell of the decaying corpses and mangled flesh meeting her nose. There was a body towards the center of the floor that was out of place. He was wearing clothes that didn’t appear to belong to a raider. She crawled over to the body on hands and knees, trying fruitlessly to get away from the smell. He hadn’t been dead for very long by the state of him, and she dug around in his pockets for clues. Fingers skimmed the bumpy plastic surface of a holotape, and she slid it carefully from the dead man’s pocket.  There was a small slip if paper resting next to his body on the floor. Taking it gingerly between thumb and index finger, she turned it over, reading the deranged scrawl.

 

“Pickman was here. Find me if you dare.” She scrutinized the red heart, goose-bumps rising on her arms in alarm. _It’s blood._ She lifted her eyes to the walls, staring at the horrific paintings. _He paints them in blood._ A cold, sinking feeling came over her, and she turned for the door, half expecting to come face to face with the boogeyman. Her hand shook on the doorknob, and she let herself out, sidling along the walls and picking her way through the ruins back to Goodneighbor.

 

***

She climbed the spiral staircase of the Statehouse one step at a time, the ugly images still plaguing her. She screwed up her eyes, trying to hold on to a memory of going to an art gallery with Nate. He’d been a good sport, reading the placards next to each piece, but she’d catch him out of the corner of his eye making faces, or rolling his eyes. “I Just don’t get it,” he’d say, shrugging his shoulders, “But anywhere you go, I want to be with you.” He’d given her a sweet kiss, holding her hand. Nora smiled to herself, the smell of his cologne lingering in her nose at the memory.

 

“How’s my little scout doing?” Hancock’s eyes were glazed over, his body draped lackadaisically over the worn couch. Fahrenheit, who Nora had figured to be the mayor’s bodyguard, was standing in the far corner. Her face was unreadable, her eyes penetrating. “You find out what’s happening at Pickman gallery?”

 

She sucked in a breath, blowing her bangs from her face to release some of the tension in her shoulders. “How do I even start?” Her hand was digging for something in her pockets. “Do you know why they called it the Pickman Gallery?”

 

“No… that was the point of the whole job, remember?” His head meandered her direction, his eyes roaming her body and resting on her somber face. It had a sobering effect, and he sat up, elbows on his knees. “What are you trying to say?”

 

She handed him the crumpled calling card and holotape, her hands feeling dirty. “It was awful… Pickman was a serial killer. He was using dead bodies for his…art.” The last word dripped from her mouth and the memory of the stench left her feeling queasy.

 

“Whoa, seriously? That’s messed up even for this town…” He turned the note over in his hands, his face grim. “I’ll put the word out to avoid that place.” His concern for the citizens spoke to his leadership qualities, and his gaze turned back to the former vault dweller. “Hiring you was definitely one of my better moments. Here.” He tossed a sack of caps at her. “Spend the money in good health.”

 

She caught it, supporting the bottom with a hand. “Feels like more than what we agreed on.” Fahrenheit was not amused.

 

The ghoul just smiled a cryptic smile, leaning back with his hands behind his head.

 

***

The glowing _I_ in the Third Rail cast a warm red glow on the filthy cobblestones of the square. Nora stared at the exterior, identifying it as a former subway station. Nick had told her a little about the bar, and she had made the decision to check it out, disinclined to sit in an empty hotel room. The grey metal door sprang open, revealing a ghoul doorman in a stained tuxedo.

 

“Hancock says newcomers are welcome in the Third Rail. Go on in.”

 

She nodded, taking her hand off of the revolver, and heading down the double set of stairs. The sound of jazz drifted up the stairs, growing louder as she reached the bottom. Nora was surprised to see a woman in a brilliant red dress crooning into a microphone on the makeshift stage.

 

A slapdash floor had been installed over the subway rails, and the bar had been built directly on top of it. There were several patrons monopolizing tables, couches, and bar stools. Most of them looked to be drifters, some of them eyeing her warily. A Mr. Handy in a bowler hat levitated behind the bar, using his mechanical arms to wipe glassware with a threadbare towel.

 

“Oi. We’ve got beer. And if you ain’t buyin’ beer, you ain’t buyin’.” His cockney accent was strong, and Nora noticed the fist-sized flag on his casing. _British_.

 

“Who’s the singer?” Nora was genuinely curious, taking note that the songs were foreign to her. _Was she writing new music?_ The thought made her smile. _The world doesn’t have to be ugly._

 

His lilt cut into her thoughts. “That is Magnolia. Flower of the Third Rail. Anything else you want to know about her other than that is her business. Now, you gonna order?”

 

She wasn’t ignoring his sales pitch on purpose, her curiosity had gotten the better of her. “The Third Rail… Is this your place?”

 

“What? Nah, gov’. This place is Hancock’s. Old Charlie just keeps the floors clean and the drinks dirty.” His mechanical pupils blinked, the rag spinning around another glass like an eggbeater.

 

“So Hancock’s the owner?” she was tapping her chin, pondering.

 

“That’s right. Owner and mayor of this whole bloody town. Trust me, never get on his bad side.” He gesticulated at her warningly. “Oh…and stay clear of his bodyguard.”

 

The statement took her by surprise. “Hancock has a bodyguard?”

 

“Yeah. The redhead with the condescending stare.” His voice had dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

 

The image of Fahrenheit’s angry eyes in the Statehouse came back to her. _So that’s what she is_. Nora had assumed the woman was a business partner of some kind. Knowing Hancock, she was that and more.

 

 “Trust me gov’ something about her ain’t right. Not that I’d ever admit sayin’ that. But I’m trying to sell drinks here. You in?” He was back to schlepping beer.

 

“What’s the word around town?” her gaze started to drift around the room, falling on Magnolia.

 

The robot had had enough. “They say there’s a newcomer around here who doesn’t understand that I’m a bartender, not a damn newsbot. Now, are you gonna drink?”

 

“This guy botherin’ you?” Hancock’s voice was jarring, and for the second time that day he’d managed to make her jump. _Serves her right for trying to bankrupt me._

The automaton was making apologies in his ridiculous accent, turning to the cabinets behind him and sliding a brown bottle across the counter to his boss. Hancock’s withered hand closed around it, and he slid it sideways to her.

 

“Put it on my tab, Charlie.” He pushed up the front of the tricorn, wiggling his non-existant eyebrows at her. “It’s good to be the boss. Consider that a thank you for all you done today.”

She eyed him suspiciously, twisting the bottle cap off with a bare hand and sliding it into her pocket. “Thank you.” Her tone was flat, and she tilted the bottle to her lips, the malt disappearing down her throat.

 

“You don’t like me much, do you?” His voice was smooth, his eyes sharp.

 

The pit of her stomach dropped, but her face was a mask. “I don’t really know you, Mayor Hancock.” She took another swig of the warm piss-brew, feeling the alcohol hit her system. “What’s your story?”

 

“Ah, my favorite subject.” He grinned his tomcat grin, proceeding to tell her his story. The ghoul had blown into town a decade ago, going on “wild tears” as he called them. His junkie habits lead him to a one-of-a-kind instant Ghoul drug, and he’d taken it. He gestured to Charlie, holding up two fingers. The Mr. Handy slid two more bottles their way without a word.

 

“Oh man, the high was so worth it.” He was smoking, and flicked the edge of the butt, ash falling on the dirty floor.  “Yeah I’m living with the side effects, but hey, what’s not to love about immortality?” He’d rolled the cap from the bottle, tossing it on the counter.

 

Her face twisted in confusion. “You’re _immortal_?”

 

Hancock chuckled at her, shaking his head. He grabbed the other bottle, expertly unscrewing the lid with a satisfying hiss, and setting it in front of her. “Not exactly. Ghouls just age really, really slow. Something about the rads maybe? Who knows…” _Where did this chick come from? Everybody knows about ghouls._

 

“All that chem use definitely prepared you for a career in politics.” The beer was loosening her lips.

 

He seemed to take affront. “People respect me because I don’t put myself above them, alright? I sling and shoot up just like the next guy.” He cleared his throat. “Now, before you bring me down, is there anything else you need?”

 

 _How about a soapbox for you?_ “Tell me more about this town of yours, Goodneighbor.” She pinched the tip of the bottle, spinning it slowly on the bar top.

 

He puffed his chest out. “It’s all about the people, understand? They’re freaks, misfits, and troublemakers, and that’s why I love ‘em.” He met her eyes with a prideful smile. “Everyone here lives their own life their own way, no judgments.”

 

“No judgments, huh?” She downed the rest of her beer, leaving a handful of caps on the counter. The former lawyer cut him off before he could protest. “Thanks for the chat. I’ll tell Nick you said hello.”

 

 _Must be nice_ she thought to herself, heading for the exit.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun with this chapter. I wanted Hancock and Nora to get to know each other a little bit. It seemed kind of strange to me that in the game you do one job for Hancock, then the next thing you know he wants to travel with you because you didn't rob him? I figured there needed to be a little more in-between.
> 
> Next up: Kellogg memories and stuff.


	12. Take a Walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where she walks through Kellogg's memories and stuff.

Chapter 12: Memories

 

Doctor Amari had sent for Nora the following day. She’d felt relief and a sense of foreboding at the task ahead. What would she see? What might they learn? _I don’t want to see his face..._

 

Irma was perched on the chaise, narrowed eyes following Nora’s medium build across the room. The aging sexpot wasn’t pleased with Nick putting himself at risk for a vault dweller. _No judgments._ Hancock’s voice rasped in her mind. She smirked, shaking her head. _People don’t change. We all judge each other._ She couldn’t even fault Irma for the ire aimed her direction. It _was_ selfish to ask of the synthetic detective, but he had offered, and she’d been too weak to say no. Hot guilt snapped at her guts. _I hope he’s okay._

 

The sole survivor took the stairs slowly, anxiety mushrooming in her insides with each step. She kept her head high, refusing to show her fears. _For Nick’s sake_ she’d convinced herself.

 

“Look what the mutated dog dragged in.” He was smiling, and cuffing her shoulder. “I hear you went on a little adventure without me.”

 

She hadn’t said anything to the synth about her plans. _Hancock…_ She rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to the man who was helping her find her son. Gratitude welled up in her insides, and she met his eyes. “Everything ok in the old noodle?” she knocked a fist against her head with a smile.

 

Doctor Amari’s face was uncomfortable. “It appears the Institute had one last failsafe,” she paused, gesticulating and trying to simplify the information. “There’s a lock on the memories in the implant.”

 

Nora’s face was pale. “Is there some way to _un_ lock it?”

 

“The encryption was too strong for one mind.” The Doctor glanced at Nick. “But if we used two…” Her dark eyes were piercing.

 

The widow’s insides turned to ice, and there was a brief look of terror in her eyes. _I can’t go into his head. I can’t-_

 

“…Run your cognitive functions in parallel.” Amari finished, looking pleased with herself.

 

“Do you..” she swallowed hard. “Do you have any idea what I’ll see in there?”

 

Nick watched her face and movements. He could see the small tremors in her hands and the way her eye twitched with the stress of it. _She’s afraid of being in Kellogg’s mind._

 

The woman’s lab coat swished with her pacing. She gripped her chin, the other hand at her hip. “I have no idea, but considering we don’t have the whole brain I doubt it’ll be…cohesive.” Her face was scrunched in uncertainty.

 

The detective put a hand on Nora’s shoulder, meeting her gaze with warm gold eyes. “We’re doing this for Shaun. I know taking a dive into the deep end of Kellogg’s brain ain’t the most desirable mental vacation spot, but everything’s gonna be ok, kid.” He smiled warmly, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

 

She steeled herself, grateful to him for always knowing what to say. “Alright. Let’s get started.”

 

Amari signaled to the memory lounger. “Just step in here and I will get everything started.”

 

Nora climbed in, and met Nick’s gaze as the transparent dome lowered overhead.

 

“See you on the other side.” His voice was upbeat.

 

She swallowed down a wave of panic. _This is too familiar._ Her mind drifted to the image of Nate in the cryo pod, and it took all of her willpower to stay in the uncomfortable chair. _Shaun. You have to do this for Shaun._

 

Doctor Amari was talking again, and Nora’s vision went black for a moment, a vast amethyst field coming into focus, glowing amoebic shapes flashing at odd intervals with light. _Brain cells? Nerve endings?_

 

“The memories are quite fragmentary” the doctor’s voice was in her ear, directing her. “There,” Nora imagined her pointing at a screen. “This is the earliest intact memory I can find.”

 

***

 

The rest was a blur- Kellogg as a child. His wife and baby daughter. Confronting their killers. Meeting strangers in bars and agreeing to kill people for money. The woman from the institute, the murder of  her husband and the kidnapping of her baby.  _Shaun_. Her son was alive, but no longer a helpless infant. He'd been the ten year old with the veteran mercenary in Diamond City.  _He's so big. He has Nate's eyes._  Nora found herself coming-to in the lounger, fresh terror leaping into her throat. The Doctor’s voice was gentle.

 

“Slow movements, ok?” the oversized lid to the pod opened with a hiss, and she breathed in the fresher air. “I don’t know what kind of side effects the procedure might have had. No one’s ever …done this before.” Amari was holding her arms out to steady the sole survivor.

 

Dark eyes studied her face. “How are you?”

 

Nora pushed the flood of emotions down, her face blank. “I’m ok Doc. Thanks.” Her voice was clipped.

 

Amari felt sadness for the woman in front of her. She’d already lived through the death of her husband and kidnapping of her son, but _reliving_ it? Through the murderer’s eyes? “I want you to keep monitoring yourself. We have to be sure there’s no long term damage.” The look on her face betrayed her discomfort at the question to follow, her voice soft. “Are you ready to talk about what happened in there?”

 

“Weren’t you watching? You know what happened.” Anger threatened to boil over. She wasn’t in the mood to talk about private thoughts with a stranger, undeterred by the fact that the woman was helping. The look on Amari’s face was sobering, and Nora sucked air through her teeth, feeling guilty.

 

“There’s more than one person who knows about the Institute. Virgil, that scientist who escaped…” Nora’s voice trailed off, a question on her face.

 

“Where did the memory say he was? The Glowing Sea?” Doctor Amari's eyes were on the floor while she puzzled it out. “That can’t be right. No one would risk going there. Not even to hide. Its overrun with massive amounts of radiation.” Her gaze shifted back to the widow. “If Virgil found a way to survive there, you’ll have to do the same if you’re going to follow him.” Her voice was grim.

 

“How?” Nora’s head was underwater again, and she was struggling to take the information in.

 

The Doctor was visualizing a solution. “There are chemical compounds: Rad-X and Radaway. You’d need as much as you could carry, maybe more.” A tan finger tapped her bottom lip. “A sealed environment suit would be great- if you can find one. A suit of Power Armor would be perfect, so long as it was intact.”

Nora interrupted the doctor’s train of thought. “I’ll find a way through. Don’t worry about it.”

Amari sensed that was the end of the conversation, and gave her a hopeful look. “Good luck, and be safe.” She was handing Nora a handful of anti radiation chems. She scooped them up awkwardly in her arms, nodding. “Mr. Valentine is waiting for you in the lounge.”

 

Heady emotions overwhelmed her, and she trudged up the double flight of stairs, eyes searching for her partner. She felt a wave of relief wash over her seeing him in one piece. Her steps were quicker and she dropped the meds at his feet, throwing her arms around his neck.

 

“Hope you got what you were looking for inside my head. Heh, I was right. Should’ve killed you when you were on ice.” The voice was gravel, and she flew backwards from the synth, eyes wide with fear.

 

“Kellogg?” her voice betrayed the terror snaking its way through her guts.

 

“What? What are you talking about?” Nick stared at her like she was crazed.

 

Her voice faltered. “You- you sounded like Kellogg just then.”

 

“Did I? Amari said there might be some mnemonic impressions left over… Anyway, I feel fine so let’s get going.” He moved to stand, her voice cutting through the stale air.

 

“There’s something wrong with you Nick. I-I don’t want you with me.” Her voice was cold. It had all been too much. The revenge killing. The recurring voice in her head. The trip through the murderer’s brain.

 

“I told you I’m fine,” the protest dissolved at the sight of her face. “But I get it. Going through Kellogg’s brain was a doozy for both of us.” He moved to place a hand on her shoulder, but she pulled away, repulsed. “I’ll be in Diamond City when you’ve had time to cool off.” There was a sadness to his voice, but he wouldn’t force his company on her. _Kid’s got a lot to process, old man. Give her some space._

Nick Valentine fixed the worn fedora on his head, and walked silently out of the Memory Den, leaving Nora to her grief and confusion. The door slapped against the jamb, jarring her back to life. _What did I just do?_ She held her face in her hands, a deep sadness settling into her bones. _I just sent the closest thing I had to a friend packing._

 

She needed time to think.

 

***

The events of the day had eroded the remainder of her good sense, and she had dragged the pack with her to the Third Rail, shuffling wordlessly down the stairs and setting up shop at the bar. Afternoon had rolled into evening, and there she sat, her flushed face plastered to the cool tiles

 

Whitechapel Charlie busied himself with the horde of empty bottles in front of him. Nora was shit-faced drunk, and her face was on the bar top, rambling incoherently about babies and radiation. He wasn’t sure what she was on about, but he was more than happy to continue pushing the brown bottles of swill towards her.

 

Several pairs of inquisitive eyes watched the blue-suited drunk as she continued to slur and slosh around on the ancient bar stool. The Mr. Handy unit was extremely grateful that she hadn’t chosen a chair that spun: she was looking a little green around the gills. A sweaty mop of red hair hung over her eyes, not that she could focus on anything around her anyway. The dimly lit room was spinning.

 

Her mood had about-faced several times over the course of her evening, turning incoherent. She’d finally gotten quiet, much to the robotic bartender’s relief. Her eyes were narrowed, staring at nothing. Her breathing was shallow, and Charlie had hovered in front of her, silver eyestalks blinking and zooming to make sure the woman was still alive. He brought a claw-like appendage to her wrist, picking it up and watching it drop back to the surface with a slap.

 

“I’d say you’re cut off there, guv.” He grabbed the open container next to her hand, dumping it down a makeshift sink. She groaned a response, draping an arm over her eyes.

 

Horrific images flashed behind her heavy lids. Nate’s frozen body, stuffed back into the cryo-pod. The beaten remains of the feral ghoul’s face. Kellogg’s dead eyes. Bloody paintings. The nauseating stench of mangled body parts...

 

She threw her head over the side of the bar, regurgitating the equivalent of several bottles onto the splintered wood floor. Her body heaved, the last of the offending liquid dripping from her soiled lips. She struggled to catch her breath, wiping at her face sloppily.

 

“Whyshapple?” she groaned, slamming a fist on the bar.

 

Colorful cockney phrases sprouted from his speakers as an eyestalk peered forward over the bar, assessing the mess. “Bollocks! Just look at my floors!” He was furious.

 

She was unconscious and starting to snore, her body curled in the most uncomfortable-looking position the bartender could imagine. “And just what the ‘ell am I supposed to do with you, eh?”

 

A familiar tri-cornered hat bobbed down the stairs, the redhead with a condescending stare in tow. He swaggered across the floor, greeting his patrons and slapping a few backs. Magnolia was crooning on stage and shot the ghoul a wink, her voice low and sultry.

 

The mayor of Goodneighbor bellied up to the bar, taking note of the incapacitated woman to his right at the end of the long counter. He picked up a boot, inspecting the slick residue and found himself standing in a rather wide puddle of vomit.

 

“Charlie.” His tone was annoyed.

 

“Yeah boss?” The bartender’s claw appendage was spinning a filthy rag around inside the green-tinted glass.

 

“The fuck happened here?” Hancock was pointing an index finger to the pile, eyes narrowed.

 

The glass nearly spun out of his robotic hand, the apertures at the end of three metallic stalks going wide. “That barmy cow,” he gestured at the passed-out Nora, “drank herself under the bloody table, and unloaded all over the floor.”

 

Hancock was laughing. “Well,” he rasped in good humor, “at least she’s reloading the coffers for me.” He looked her over, checking for signs of life. “Looks like she just needs to sleep it off.” He knew the look well. _No judgment_ s. “Keep an eye on her stuff. Make sure nobody bothers her, got it?” His eyes were unreadable.

“Right boss.” The British automaton was back to polishing the glassware.

 

With a swish of his coattails John Hancock took his leave of the Third Rail, a cloud of cigarette smoke billowing in his wake.

 

 “I dunno what you did, or who you know but you’re awful lucky to be in that ghoul’s good graces.” His comment was met with a particularly loud snore, and he uttered a low curse. “Daffy bint.”

 

***

There were jackhammers digging around in her brain. The right eye was squinting, the grid pattern of the tiles coming into focus. The left eye followed suit, and she blinked laboriously, a hand pressing at her temple.

 

“Hair of th’dog?” The Cockney warbled, sliding a glass of water her way.

 

Nora nearly knocked the glass over, her motor functions slowly returning. She flexed her spine, sitting up tall, joints and vertebrae cracking and popping. The robot bartender uttered a disgusted noise, wiping the vacated counter down. Gingerly, the woman rose from her elevated seat, a squinted eye perusing the dimness.

 

“Where is everybody?” she croaked, tipping the glass to her lips and swallowing giant mouthfuls of water. She cringed, head throbbing.

 

“Bar’s closed. Dunno where they all went, but they weren’t stayin’ here.” One of the tentacle limbs lifted an olive-green rucksack to the counter. “This yours?”

 

She blinked, placing her hand on the worn strap. She felt stupid and out of sorts. “Thanks,” she managed weakly and pulled the pack on.

 

“Couldn’t ‘ave you losing all those caps you owe me.” He tapped the bar expectantly.

 

She groaned, pulling the pack around to her front and unzipping an exterior pocket. She’d worked so hard for them and now she was on her own- _Nick_. The memory stung her.

 

“How much?”

 

Charlie chuckled, eyestalks wafting through the air. “I’m just taking the piss outta ya. You’re paid up, guv.”

 

She breathed a sigh of relief, too hung over to ask questions about how the bill had been settled.

 

“Now, get out. Bar’s closed”

 

Nora nodded, making her way back to the streets of Goodneighbor. _What do I do now?_ She sighed, the pack heavier on her back than she remembered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PROGRESS. I have an outline of the next several Chapters, and I'm really looking forward to them. I hope you are too.
> 
> Up next: The (motherfucking) Dig. 
> 
> Can I just say, I wish there was an easy way around this? The prize at the end of those twisting tunnels is everybody's favorite sassy Ghoul. I'm stoked.


	13. Be a Good Neighbor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where the Dig happens.

**Chapter 13: Be a Good Neighbor**

 

“Bobbi, what are you doing here?” Fahrenheit’s voice carried across the colossal space of the storeroom.

 

“Shit.” the ghoul spat, a tommy gun aimed skywards at Hancock’s bodyguard.

 

“You seriously didn’t think Hancock would catch wind of your scheme?” the bouncer glared down at the motley group. “He took you in Bobbi, and you’re _stealing_ from him?”

 

The noseless woman turned to Nora with the same play-it-cool gaze that she’d worn from the beginning. “Don’t listen to _her_.”

 

“What does this have to do with Hancock, Bobbi?” Nora’s tone was a warning.

 

“Yeah, about that,” she drawled, a bored look on her face. “As Mel guessed, this isn’t the Diamond City strong room.”

 

The realization dawned on the sole survivor and she was livid. The scorn in Fahrenheit’s voice lifted. “I see the rest of you are in the dark about this.” Her eyes moved to the ghoul. “Nice, No-Nose.” She jeered at Mel and Nora. “You all just broke into Hancock’s store room.” As if the two grime-covered treasure seekers hadn’t made the connection, “You know, _Hancock_? The _mayor_ of Goodneighbor?”

 

The spindly engineer’s voice echoed in the oversized space. “Dammit Bobbi!”

 

“Listen guys,” she rasped, the submachine gun tight in her grasp. “I know this isn’t what you expected. But there are still a ton of caps on the line here.” The ghoul’s voice dropped to a low whisper. “You help me take her out and all of it is ours.”

 

Nora had heard enough. She grasped the rifle with both hands, swinging the solid wooden stock into the side of Bobbi’s scheming head with a great deal of force. A surprised groan escaped the scammer’s throat before she doubled over, out cold.

 

Mel’s arms were crossed over his chest, a light scowl on his face. “You didn’t have to knock her out! Probably could’ve talked her down.”

 

“She talked around in circles,” the thought was bitter. “Somebody had to shut her up.” Nora’s voice was cold. 

 

_How did we even get here?_

 

She thought back to the beginning of the whole damn train wreck, and her heart ached. _Nick. Nick was gone and she’d been the one to send him away._

 

Against her better judgment, she’d agreed to help the conniving woman with the hard eyes. It was a job that would pay _extremely_ _well_ according to Bobbi No-Nose. _And get my mind off of things_. Nora had been on autopilot, her head reeling at being alone in the wasteland again, and the knowledge that someone else had raised her son for the past decade.

 

One of the armed guards of Goodneighbor had given her the tip about Bobbi. She was seriously regretting that now as shame and anger braided themselves through her guts. _How could you let her talk you into something this stupid? The old Nora-_ she paused, too ashamed to finish the thought.

 

Nora was thankful that she’d been able to talk the Diamond City security guards into letting Mel out early, rather than wasting her caps trying to bribe them… or worse. The techhead  was glaring across the space at her. He turned his gaze to Farenheit’s position in the rafters, his voice ringing clear across the space.

 

“I’m outta here.” He didn’t look at Nora again. Fahrenheit approved with a slow nod, a smirk painted on her mouth.

 

“You made the right choice.” The statement was aimed at Nora.

 

“How _did_ you find us?” her curiosity was stronger than her guilt.

 

The bodyguard sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. “If you think Hancock doesn’t know about everything that happens in his territory, you’re mistaken.” She chuckled to herself adding, “You have to know you guys weren’t exactly _silent_ down there.”

 

Nora stood, her mouth a grim line. She wasn’t going to apologize or attempt to explain herself- she’d communicated enough in knocking the noseless ghoul unconscious.

 

“The boss will understand. You didn’t know what you were doing.” There was something unreadable in her tone. “Hancock will be happy to hear about your loyalty. You should go pay your respects in person.”

 

Nora nodded, heading for the exterior door.

 

“It’s best to stay on Hancock’s good side, trust me.” Fahrenheit’s voice was matter-of-fact, but something about the way she’d said it betrayed some firsthand knowledge. _How did a woman like Fahrenheit come to work for such a volatile man?_

 

The thought escaped into the chilly night air, and the sole survivor, covered in all manner of dirt and grime, headed back to the heathen’s den to pack up and move out.

 

***

 

The water in the Hotel Rex was freezing. She raked the grit and grime from her body, watching familiar grey-brown swirls empty down the dark hole of the drain. She stared at it for a long while, drops of saltwater mixing with the rest. To say she was overwhelmed was an understatement.

 

Her heart reached for comfort and companionship with phantom limbs, having to content itself with memories long gone. She remembered the day Nate had brought her home from the hospital, a miniature person in her arms. _Shaun_ … The dull pain in her chest was real, and she doubled over, holding her hand firmly to her breast suppressing a sob. The water pelted her back, but she had long since gone numb to the cold. Nate’s warm smile floated behind her blurred vision, and she squeezed her eyelids tight, fuming at herself for crying. She pulled back a fist, slamming it recklessly into the tile wall. The stained square cracked, several shards of ceramic crumbling to the floor of the stall.

 

A dull throbbing emanated from a bloody knuckle, the meat around it beginning to swell. She wasn’t sure what scared her more: the unbidden burst of anger or the fact that she’d barely registered the pain. She cradled the hand and threw the shower knob sideways, the stream of water petering out. Her forehead met the coolness of the tile, and she blinked back angry tears.

 

 _What am I supposed to do? What would Nate do?_ The thought of Nate seeing her in such a pathetic state killed her. She reached for the ring at her neck, a deep sadness welling up from deep inside the recesses of her mind. She had pushed everything down, and there was nowhere else to store the raw feelings of grief, sadness, loss, anger, hatred… The sole survivor was more exhausted than she’d ever been in her life.

 

She pitched herself forward on the bed, water droplets still clinging to her as she sobbed into the soiled pillow, hyperventilating. She cried everything to the surface. Nate was gone. Shaun was gone, and someone else had raised him in her absence. _Would he even remember them? Would he believe her when she told him?_ The look on Nick’s face when he’d been dismissed by her paranoia. The feeling of loss in her chest when she pictured the back of his trench coat and fedora moving towards the doors of the Memory Den.

 

Pain turned to anger as she thought about the duplicitous No-Nose taking advantage of her, but if she was honest with herself... _You’re not mad at her for that. You’re mad that you allowed yourself to be so easily connived._ Her face was hot, the salt sticking at the corners of her eyes. Her hair was plastered to the side of her face, wetly sandwiched between her cheek and the pillow. Goose bumps covered her limbs, and her teeth were shaking in her mouth. The room had suddenly gone cold.

 

 _I don’t want to feel anymore_. The voice was quiet, sinister. It was an unscratchable itch. She wasn’t sure when the syringe had made its way into her fist. The violet contents drained slowly, her eyes glazing over while the veil of numbness descended on her. Heavy eyelids drooped as the syringe dropped from her hand, rolling under the wooden frame of the hotel bed.

 

 _Folks come to this hotel to shoot up or bed down._ The sass of the aging hotel manager’s voice danced through her head as she drifted into a dreamless sleep.

 

***

 

Nora’s stomach turned at the idea of food, but she’d forced the least offensive of the hoarded prewar snacks into her mouth, chugging water to keep them down. She stared the length of the soiled can, tracing the shape of her throbbing hand. A trail of dried blood flaked from the swollen hills of her knuckles. She grimaced at the memory of the previous night, the small pink-purple dot on her thigh a reminder of more bad decisions. She pulled the tatty vault suit on hastily, ripping the zipper towards her neck. The pack was nearly empty, and she would have to resupply before heading out. The sack of caps jingled in her mangled hand, the heft of it a relief.

 

She pulled the filthy boots to the side of the bed, pulling them on and wrapping the laces around her calves and tugging them into knots. The leather was worn and had molded to her shape since leaving the vault. _How long has it been since I stepped out of time?_ Balling the last of her belongings, she shoved them into the sack with a heavy sigh. The weight of her burdens hadn’t gotten any lighter, she’d just begun to wrap her head around them better. She fixed the pieces of armor to her form, the buckled of her gun belt jingling.

 

She pushed off of the filthy mattress, making her way down the flights of stairs and disappearing out of the bright red doors. Her first stop would be the town’s general store. Fahrenheit’s voice mingled with the other thoughts banging around her head. _You should go pay your respects in person_. The feeling of dread turned her stomach and she swallowed hard. Crashing and burning for a night was one thing, but leaving without making contact would look extremely suspicious.

 

“Fuck.” The sound of her voice was louder than she’d anticipated.

The modest little shop looked empty, the brightly painted sign above it read _Daisy Discounts_. The shopkeep was in her normal position, bent over the counter with a bored look on her face drumming her fingers. She ghoul wore a dirty three-piece suit with a tie, her hair cropped short, eyes alight. _The boredom is an act- she’s watching people_. Nora was putting her powers of observation to good use. _If you think Hancock doesn’t know what happens in his territory…_ Fahrenheit’s voice echoed in her ears. _There are clearly some kind of under the table dealings going on between the shop keeps and the mayor…_

 

The sound of the ghoul’s voice interrupted her train of thought.

 

“Oh. A new face walks into my store. And you’re not even screaming, yet. Very polite." She paused, dark orbs meeting the new face. "You let me know if anything catches your eye.”

 

The statement took the vault dweller by surprise. “Did you say something about people screaming at you?”

 

“Some newcomers have never seen a Ghoul before. Can’t handle a friendly face I say.” Her eyes roamed Nora’s figure, resting on her face.

 

She paused, trying to form the question in a respectful way. “What’s it like, you know, being a Ghoul?”

 

Daisy’s brow furrowed. “Well, it’s a lot worse when people always ask you about it all the time, but I guess I can’t blame them.” A small smile danced at the corners of her mouth. “On the upside…I look pretty good for being over 220 years old.”

 

“Wait, you’re 220 years old?” the statistic was mind-blowing to the vault dweller.

 

Daisy had decided she liked this girl, and put her hands out, gesturing. “Ok, ok. It’s more like 270 years, but don’t go blabbing that to everyone. Being a Ghoul means you live a long time. You stop counting birthdays.” Her eyes betrayed a sadness that her face was trying to hide. “Do you know what it’s like being that old?”

 

 _Yes, in fact, I do._ Nora shook her head. “No. I can’t imagine what that must be like.” She felt a touch of regret about lying, but wasn’t in the mood to reminisce with the old ghoul. The pain was too raw. She rubbed absently at her thigh.

 

“Well, we should get back to business. What are you picking up?”

 

“A little bit of this and a little bit of that.” Nora smiled at Daisy. She liked the woman and her brassy demeanor. “I’m heading back into the Commonwealth, so nothing too heavy.”

 

“You got it.” Daisy’s smile met her eyes. _The kid has spunk._

 

***

 

The armed goons secured the various entrances to the Statehouse, each of them making faces at the former vault dweller. _Word certainly travels fast in this hellhole._ Nora’s mood was sour, but she sucked it up, following the winding path of the spiral staircase to the Mayor’s office. _Pay your respects…_ She made a face at the thought.

 

Hancock was leaning against the far wall in his office, arms crossed over his chest. He eyed Nora as she entered, meeting her steel gaze.

 

“How’s Bobbi’s little patsy?” an amused smirk played on his face, and he shifted his feet, resting a boot against the wall. He dug in a pocket, tossing a pouch at her. She caught it with a jingle, a silent question on her face.

 

“For protecting my stash.” An index finger pushed at the front corner of the tricorn, the warm tungsten reflected in his black eyes. “Wise decision turning on Bobbi like that.” He pantomimed swinging a large object.

 

 _He moves like a cat_. Her left brow cocked and she sucked the air through her teeth. “Not like I had a choice.” The sole survivor was still touchy about being duped by the noseless woman. Hot anger seethed in her guts when she thought about the storeroom and Fahrenheit’s look of amusement.

 

He was enjoying poking at her. “That’s the best part about being the mayor, always the safe bet.” He flashed her an arrogant, toothy grin.

 

Her face was stone. She was in no mood to let him prod her into reacting.

 

He felt a tug of guilt at rubbing her misstep in her face, and his haunted features softened, his latest musings pouring out of him like word vomit. He’d gotten “too comfortable.” Wanted to know her opinion about his town-management style.

 

Her eyes widened almost undetectably. _Is he really asking me if I think he’s a tyrant_? _What the hell is this about_? She hadn’t expected this sort of honesty to come pouring off of his silver tongue. It made her suspicious.

 

The Ghoul seemed to be staring past her, clearing his conscience. “I need to take a walk again. Get a grip on what _really_ matters.”

 

 _Family? A home?_ She was only half-paying attention, trying to figure out her next move in her quest to find her son.

 

“Living free.” There was a smile on his face, his gaze far away.

 

“Can you just leave Goodneighbor? Aren’t you the _mayor_?” she scoffed, tapping her fingers against her crossed arms.

 

“Mayor’s still the Mayor whether he’s _in residence_ or not.” He ignored her disdain. “I can’t let power get to my head. That’s not what being in charge of Goodneighbor is about.” He looked at her expectantly, eyes settling on the drab olive rucksack.

 

“What?” She was waiting for the punch line. “You looking for a companion or something?” The whole conversation was absurd. _How could you govern a town if you weren’t there to govern it?_

Hancock grinned at her, acting as if she’d asked him in earnest. “Yeah. I like it. You might just be the right kind of trouble.” There was a look of something else in his eyes, but she couldn’t read him. He was too slippery- one minute he was goading her, the next pouring his guts out. The term _bipolar_ sprang to mind.

 

“Let me just have a little chat with my community first.” He was grandstanding.

 

She stifled a laugh. _He’s certainly having fun with this farce._

 

The smirk on her face disappeared as he slipped through the door to his balcony. She could hear him calling to the citizens through splintered wood, and walked over to sit on the couch, rubbing her face with both hands, a wink of pain moving through her swollen knuckles.

 

_Surely he wasn’t serious?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am serious, and don't call me Shirley.
> 
> OH MY GOD WE FINALLY GET TO START THIS MFING PARTY!  
> I'm so FREAKIN' excited.
> 
> Next up- Hancock and Nora take a long walk through the Commonwealth.  
> Nick Valentine cries into the dog's wild mane, wondering why he wasn't invited (not really).


	14. Take a Walk on the Wild Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where they get to know each other.

**Chapter 14: Take a Walk on the Wild Side**

 

“So a Ghoul walks into a bar...” He was already chuckling at the joke. “Bartender says we don’t serve Ghouls here.” A dramatic pause for effect. “Ghoul says that’s fine, is the human fresh?”

 

Nora rolled her eyes, keeping a look out for trouble. She paused, clicking through the screens of the Pip-Boy to check the map. The mismatched pair was heading for Sanctuary, back to her mangled set of power armor. She’d formulated a plan of action before leaving Goodneighbor, but her newest travel companion continued to break her concentration with his bawdy sense of humor. She’d wanted to tell him off in the Statehouse and leave him behind. She’d wanted to tell him that he was foolish and cocksure. What could the flippant junkie understand about loss? _He turned himself into a Ghoul to get high!_ But the fear of wandering the wastes alone had goaded her into the convenient choice, and here the pair was, wading through the grassy outcropping.

 

Hancock was studying the distant green sky with a furrowed brow. “Storm’s movin’ in. We need to get under cover, sister.” His voice rang with authority, his coal eyes looking her over.

 

“What’s the matter? Afraid of a little rain?” her look was skeptical.

 

“Look doll, I just figure you’d wanna keep that smooth set of skin is all.” He pointed his index finger to the sky. “That ain’t no ordinary rainstorm- that’s a rad storm.” As if summoned by the Ghoul, a chartreuse streak veined across the sky. The Pip-Boy was ticking off the radiation thrown off by the bolt. Amusement played in his eyes. Her mouth was agape.

 

The pair spotted a burned out building with a sub floor in the distance. His eyes were narrowed, scanning for threats. He pulled the shotgun from his back, gripping it in his weathered hands. Nora’s hand was on the grip of her revolver, and they trekked towards the ruins as quickly as they dared. Emerald streaks rolled across the sky, making the fine hairs on her arms stand on end. The Geiger counter’s clicking came in waves.

 

A buckle-trimmed boot kicked the doors open, the shotgun at his waist. There was a noise suggesting the presence of radroaches. Nora clicked on the Pip-Boy light illuminating their skittering forms and taking aim. The shots from the .44 left their ears ringing, but the roaches were gooey piles on the floor. Her aim had improved over time, and the smirk on her face attested to her pride in that fact. They could hear the storm moving in, and Hancock gestured to the stairs leading into the basement.

 

“Should be safer below ground.” His tone was matter of fact. It took the widow by surprise, and she found herself descending the stairs shoulder to shoulder with him, wary of any additional irradiated pests.

The basement of the building looked like it had been picked clean, but Nora busied herself poking through bins and boxes using the light at her wrist. Hancock settled in, sliding his lean form down the wall and retrieving a well-weathered tin from his pocket. He popped the chalky red pills, holding them under his tongue and watched the vault dweller digging around in the pack. Her coloring was off, and she looked peaked. She sat facing the Ghoul and rested her head against crossed arms, knees to her chest. There was a bag of red-orange in her hand, and she was squeezing the contents around, mixing them. _Rad Away_. He may not have needed anti- radiation drugs anymore, but he’d certainly had occasion to use them in his pre-Ghoul days. It was strange to him that the memory had become so foreign.

 

“Feelin’ chatty yet?” He was fidgeting with his knife, spinning it around in his hand. Nora remembered their first encounter and drew herself up, leery of the weapon.

 

“Not exactly.” She sounded haggard, and he watched her take in the dark room. The sole survivor was fumbling with an IV needle, clumsily poking at her arm with it. “Damnit!” she was sucking a finger, a drop of blood blooming from the tip.

 

“Smart.” His teeth were bright against the dark shadows of his face. He moved to help her and she turned away, hunching over and continuing to poke and prod herself.

 

“I can handle it.” the tone was clipped.

 

He put his palms up “Suit yourself, sister. Don’t ask the junkie for help with stickin’ needles or anything.” The mayor produced a pack of cigarettes, bringing one to his thin lips. “You change you’re mind, and I’ll poke ya real good.” The flame danced in the relative darkness, the end of the cigarette glowing orange. He couldn’t see what she was doing, but he was amused by her obstinance.

 

She cursed quietly, heaving a sigh and tossing the IV bag back in the pack, defeated. She was running a frustrated hand through her hair, gripping and releasing the red tuft.

 

“You really so stubborn you’re gonna sit there and suffer with radiation instead of askin’ the resident chem fiend for help?”

 

The smoke stung her nose, and she made a face, shooing it away. “Fine.” The red-orange package landed in his lap, and she stuck her arm towards him, facing away. “Just do it and get it over with.” There were a few beading dots in the crook of her arm. He pulled a strip of gauze from his pocket, wrapping it tightly around her bicep. She felt the warmth of his fingers flicking at the vein, and the distinct pinch of the needle. She squeezed her eyes shut, and it was over.

 

Turning to face him, she found herself staring at his colonial boots while he held the bag vertically above her head. “Can you move to the wall? We can hang this anti-rad sack from that shelving unit there.” He was gesturing to the opposite wall.

 

Nora nodded and climbed to her feet, careful not to pull the needle from her arm. She settled into a comfortable position on the dingy floor while he rigged the IV to the shelving.

 

“Do my best work in the dark.” Hancock lowered himself to the floor, putting his arms behind his head, the cigarette pinched between his teeth. “So what’s your deal, smoothskin?”

 

She met his stare, trying to find the right words, her mouth a thin line.

 

“C’mon, you know _my_ story. Besides, you kinda owe me.” He was grinning.

 

“What do you want to know?” the color was retuning to her cheeks and the cold sweat on her brow had evaporated into the stale basement air.

 

“What’s a vault dweller doing this far from a vault?” the end of the cigarette was growing dim.

 

“Vault 111 wasn’t set up for people to live there. It was a cryogenics facility.” She paused, checking to see if he was following.

 

“Ah, popsicle people.” The Mentats had kicked in a while ago and his eyes were bright and curious.

 

“Something like that. Anyway, I was frozen and then I woke up, and now I am here with you in a dingy basement trying not to irradiate to death.”

 

She was obviously holding back, but he sensed that prying further would end badly.

 

The Ghoul and the vault dweller sat in silence for a long while, the Pip-Boy light turning everything a fluorescent green. She had fumbled with the dials, turning on the radio. Classical music wafted through the dingy air, and he closed his eyes, riding the Mentat high and taking pleasure in the dulcet tones. Nora’s voice broke the silence.

 

“I was frozen in that vault for over 200 years.” She left the realization to dawn on him, her voice quiet.

 

“So you’re tellin’ me you’re pre-war?” A low whistle escaped. “Ya know, I got a thing for older women.” He eyed the upturned corners of her mouth. _About damn time._

She studied her unlikely companion, suddenly feeling less lonely. The music played softly, lulling her eyelids closed. Her breaths were slow and steady.

 

He pulled the inhaler from his pocket, the effects of the Jet burning trails across his vision in the dimness. He knew sleep wouldn’t find him anytime soon, and kicked back, enjoying the slow movement and looseness in his limbs.

 

***

There was a prickling sensation in her arm, and Nora woke with a start, yanking her arm from Hancock’s grasp. He pulled his hands into the air, cracked palms facing her.

 

“Whoa there sunshine, just takin’ out the IV.”

 

She breathed a sigh of relief, the last traces of her disquieting dreams dissolving into the air. The irony of a junkie nurse was not lost on her. She stretched, arching her back, and bridged her fingers overhead, knuckles crackling. Her face twisted, the injured hand protesting the movement.

 

Hancock’s eyes lingered, sussing her out. Part of him was still trying to figure what had possessed him to travel with the ex-vault dweller. Nick Valentine had certainly played a part in his decision, but there had been something beyond the synth’s request on his way out of Goodneighbor. _“John,” he’d said, his face somber, “Keep an eye on her for me.”_ There had been something unreadable behind the robot’s eyes, but he hadn’t asked. _I owed him one anyway_.

 

Had it been the pretty features hiding under the wasteland grime? He shook his head. _No, that’s not it_. It had been a collection of quirks, each one telling of her nature. Her eyes could be soft and hard at the same time. He’d watched the gears turning in her head; she was observant of everything. The woman played it close to the chest, and her trust had to be earned. But she was also kind. Daisy seemed to like the smoothskin, her eyes alight when describing their encounter before he’d rolled like a tumbleweed out of town. “ _She wasn’t screamin’ for one thing.”_ The Ghoul-woman had smiled at the thought, tugging at an errant thread in her jacket.

 

Then there was her attitude. Nora had been aloof, unimpressed with his bravado, sarcastic. _Rude._ Smiles didn’t come easily to her soft features, and there was the mystery of where she came from. She was green, but capable. His mind drifted back to her negotiating tactics, and he felt the familiar sense of affection that had lead him to foolishly double the caps on the Pickman job. The vault dweller was certainly a puzzle… He smiled. _Always did like fitting all the pieces together._

 

“Hancock.” Steel eyes were on him. She’d caught him zoning, and had already shouldered the pack, revolver in hand. “Let’s go.”

 

***

It was as if the weather of the day was making amends for driving them inside. The air was clear, the emerging sun warm on their fronts.

 

He squinted, holding a hand to his brow. “Somebody gonna turn that thing down?”

 

She produced a pair of sunglasses, dangling them in front of him wordlessly. He pinched the arm of them between thumb and forefinger, slinging them onto his face. “I always thought this crazy getup could benefit from the right accessories.”

 

She stifled a laugh, her features softening. Hancock took that as his cue to continue. “So you gonna tell me where this party’s headin’?”

 

Her feet came to a halt, and she was fiddling with the Pip-Boy. His voice was next to her. “I mean you don’t _have_ to tell me, but I was just thinkin’ you got a grade A tour guide right here-” he was cut off by the screen in his face.

 

“Sanctuary. It’s a settlement of people I helped when I got out of the vault.” Her finger was tapping the location on the map. “It’s,” her voice faltered, the words catching in her throat. “It’s where I _used_ to live. Before.” _Before my husband was murdered. Before my son was stolen from me. Before the world burned._

 

He was beginning to get a clearer picture of her life, biting back the obvious question: _Why are you alone?_ His thoughts drifted to his days in Diamond City, an estranged brother, the people in the neighborhood, the green of the wall… He understood the expression on her face. It was loss.

 

***

They stopped to rest under the destroyed overpass at midday. The sun had grown hot, and she had rolled the over-sized sleeves of her vault suit to her elbows, exposing a farmer’s tan. Her hands were dark in contrast to the milk of her arms. A hand was lazily wafting air to her face, her gaze on the wrist computer.

 

His tongue pushed the pre-chewed chunks of Mentat around his mouth and he swallowed them dry. She made a face at him.

 

“Makes me feel _intellectual_ , doll.” Hancock shrugged his arms, offering no other excuses or reasoning for his habit. She passed him the open can of water wordlessly. The small gesture affected him more than he’d expected. “Not afraid of cooties, huh?” Sunlight bounced off of the can tipped to his lips. She shook her head slowly, corners of her mouth turned ever so slightly upward. He was beginning to understand what had impressed Daisy about her. The crumpled plastic pack was in his hand and he busied himself lighting a cigarette. Nora held out an expectant hand, and he passed her the cigarettes.

 

With a confused look on her face, she tossed them back his direction, hitting the Ghoul in the face and taking him by surprise. He uttered an indescribable noise, his eyes wide and she was laughing, hands cupped over her mouth. She laughed until tears formed at the edges of her eyes and she couldn’t breathe. “You. Shoulda. Seen.” More cackling laugher. “Your face!” she pantomimed his reaction, sliding an index finger under her eyes and wiping the tears on the exposed fabric of the jumpsuit.

 

“The hell is wrong with you? Give a guy a heart attack over here!” he was pouting, annoyed at being taken by surprise. This just made things worse, a guffawing noise escaping Nora’s open mouth. She was holding her sides, rocking back and forth. He looked at her like she was a lunatic, flicking the ash from the end of his cigarette. He was muttering to himself about “crazy” and “smoothskin” his eyes murderous.

 

“Thank you.” Nora was wiping her eyes again, still smiling but more controlled. She sucked in a breath, filling her lungs. “I think that’s the most I’ve laughed since crawling out of that vault.” Hancock was still sulking, but his expression had relaxed. He nodded with a quick “Mmm hmm,”

sucking down the smoke, and blowing neat little rings into the open air. She rolled her body forward, grabbing the water can. “Just wanted the water back.” She chuckled, drinking deeply.

 

***

Hancock held out an arm, motioning for the vault dweller to take a step back. There were rumbling voices up ahead. His attention turned to the large pile of rocks about ten paces to their right, and motioned her towards them without speaking. Her hand was on the revolver as they maneuvered themselves to the rock face. Amusement played in his eyes- he was readying himself for a fight.

 

“Supermutants. Three of ‘em.” He hazarded a look past the rocks. “Shit.”

 

Her heart was hammering in her chest, her limbs frozen in place. “What?!” she hissed, the anxiety making her impatient.

 

“Rocket launcher.” She wasn’t sure how he could be so matter-of-fact about it, her eyes wide with horror.

 

 _A fucking rocket launcher?_ _Super mutants? But I’ve never fought-always sneaking-_ The panic in her chest was palpable as she shrugged off the pack at his behest. He was shoving something at her. Her gaze dropped to her rifle, irradiated hands forcing it at her chest.

 

“Nora!” the urgency in his voice brought her back.  

 

He’d never called her by her name before… _That’s not important!_ Her eyes were screwed up in concentration, watching his mouth move, and nodding dumbly. His hands moved to her shoulders, his grip firm.

 

“Got it?” he shook her for emphasis, her head still nodding. “Good.” His grip loosened, hands dropping from her shoulders. They moved naturally to the shotgun at his back, pulling it to his middle, and he practically dove from the hiding place hearing the mutants roar threats at him.

 

“I’ll bathe in your blood!” the bellow was much closer than she’d anticipated, her blood going cold.

 

 _Hancock?_ The voice in her head was small. “Hancock?” the realization dawned on her that she was part of a plan. A plan she’d told him she understood. A plan that she’d heard not one word of. “Hancock!” She threw herself towards the rock, her head peaking above its sturdy top. She laid the rifle across the surface, a storm-colored eye looking down the barrel through a circular sight. The Ghoul was practically dancing across the field, dodging the whistling trails of the missiles. He wasn’t close enough for the shotgun to do much… _He’s waiting for me to lay down cover fire_. Her brain switched to battle mode, recalling Preston’s training. The Super Mutant firing rockets paused in between each round to reload. She lined up the dense green dome in the sight, pulling the trigger.

 

The bullet grazed, and she cursed, holding her breath, squinting an eye, and squeezing the trigger again. _Only a matter of time before the others come running…_ The butcher’s angry head exploded, the hulking corpse caving and dropping to the ground. She lifted her eyes from the scope, surveying the area. The two remaining monsters were zeroing in on the Ghoul, one holding an oversized bludgeon, the other firing repeatedly with a hunting rifle. She lined up the shot, the giant’s arm falling limply to his side, a curse on his lips. He was now swinging the gun towards Hancock, crazed expression on his ugly face.

 

John squared his shoulders, taking one shot, then another. The brutes continued to move in, too close for her comfort. She yanked the rifle from the rock, feet pulling her forward at an alarming pace. She could hear his voice shouting angry threats. “Brace yourselves, ya bastards!”

 

The vault dweller brought the rifle to her shoulder, falling into a crouch. She followed the hulking form across the shrinking space and squeezed the trigger several times in succession to take him down. The body somersaulted, rolling to a dead stop. The rest happened in slow motion.

 

The last remaining Super Mutant had changed course, lumbering her direction while she had disposed of his comrade.  There had only been enough time for her to leap out of the way, landing hard and rolling to a stop as the bludgeoning weapon left a crater in the earth. It kicked up a cloud of dust and debris, blanketing her face. Nora coughed the dirt from her lungs, sputtering and spitting.

 

Hancock swore, bounding towards the two figures, gun raised. The first shot spattered the thick muscular chest of the mutant with buckshot, further enraging him. The behemoth was obscured by the dust cloud of its own making as it swung the concrete-enveloped post through the air. There was a howl of pain, and the Ghoul dropped to the ground, his arm hanging at a sickening angle. He struggled to pull the shotgun to him with one working hand, cursing the Super Mutant with colorful language.

 

 _That beast is going to knock his head off if I don’t do something_. She squinted her eyes, finding the lumbering figure. She pushed off the ground with surprising strength, launching herself towards at him. Hancock’s shotgun was aimed upwards, and he pulled the trigger, catching his foe in the face with a smug grin.

 

“Don’t count me out yet, ya ugly green mother-” she dove for his red waistcoat, gripping him forcefully around the middle and pulling him with her, the solid edge of the improvised weapon scraping the back of her thigh as her body covered him. The was a grunt, a cry, and a savage bellow as the Ghoul’s hand reached at her hip, gripping the revolver and blasting the mutated barbarian in the chest. He rolled out from under her, hopping to his feet to inspect the body, one shoulder slumped awkwardly.

 

“Yup.” An oversized black boot made contact with the solid mass. “Don’t have to worry about this asshole anymore.” He kicked the pockmarked face forcefully to underscore his statement.

 

“You shoulda seen the look on that mutated bastard’s-” he stopped at the sight of her leg. “Face?” The urban warhammer had done its job. The flesh had torn, following the edge of the blunted weapon, and an ugly bruise was forming around the traumatized tissue. It made him feel sick, but he worked quickly to jam a Stimpak into her thigh, ignoring the throbbing pain in his shoulder. He wasn’t sure if he should be thankful that she had passed out, or freaked out that she wouldn’t wake up.

 

Red coattails floated behind him, his footfalls light against the ground. He moved like a cat towards the rocks, glaring at his limp arm. “This is gonna hurt.” He grimaced, slamming his shoulder into the solid form of the rock, popping it back into place. He was cussing through gritted teeth, and snatched up the pack. He sprinted back to her, his knees skidding in the dirt.

 

“C’mon doll, stay with me here.” His fingers fumbled clumsily with the zippers, and he pulled the first aid kit from the pack. She needed another Stimpak, some Med-X and _Where the fuck was the gauze?_

 

With the sound of a hiss, he watched the Stimpak going to work, the flesh tightening near the injection site. He had found the gauze hiding in plain sight, and wrapped the wound as best as he could. He sucked air through his teeth, pain pulsating where his arm met his shoulder. “Fuckin’ Super Mutants.” He was muttering to himself, trying to stay focused. “You gotta be kidding me!” There was only one syringe of the heady purple pain reliever. He jammed the needle into the soft tissue of her ass cheek, pushing the plunger down with gusto before he could change his mind.

 

He stared at her unconscious face. “What the hell were you thinkin’?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else wondering if the ghoul joke was a nod to John Bender?
> 
> I scrutinized all the dialogue. Pretty happy with all the stuff so far.
> 
> Up next: getting to Sanctuary where Preston will most likely be a lazy butthole and send them on some Minuteman errands.
> 
> Yay! O.o


	15. Getting to Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where they get to know each other.

**Chapter 15: Getting to Know You**

 

There was dirt in her mouth, the grit crunching between her teeth as her tongue moved around trying to clear it out. She pushed herself heavily from the ground and spat, the ground turning dark. Her eyes were cloudy, and she sensed the far away pull of the Med-X in her system with an anesthetized sense of dread. No memory of the violet vial could be recalled. _What’s happening to me?_ The brain fog was making her slow.

 

“Mornin’ Sunshine. Any suicidal rescue missions you’re thinkin’ about attemptin’ today?” He was picking at the dirt under his fingernails with his knife, his features dark. He was favoring one shoulder, and looked more... _real_ than she’d ever seen him. His pomp had disappeared, replaced by something else. _Anger?_ Nora wasn’t in the right mindset to tell, the chems numbing her processing power.

 

“Saved your sorry ass.” She felt her tongue rolling around the words. It was a strange sensation, and she continued the movement though she had stopped speaking, feeling the slick texture of her teeth. _You are high_. The voice was far away.

 

He sprang towards her like a cat after prey, gesticulating with the knife. “You pull that kinda shit again and I am outta here, you got that?”

 

Nora turned her body awkwardly, pulling her back to the rocks. _He must have dragged me over here_. Hazy eyes turned to scan for the site of the incident, but nothing looked familiar enough. _It all happened so fast_ \- The gears in her brain clicked sluggishly forward. “Considering you invited _yourself_ along, s’not much of a threat.” Her eyes fell on the knife, unfocused and she could feel herself slurring the words. “You gonna use that thing or pick your fuckin’ teeth with it?” She made a face at the thought of the contaminated blade in someone’s mouth. Red hair lolled backwards with her head, and she was staring at the flock of happy clouds drifting slowly across the wasteland.

 

“You are fuckin’ stoned.” He was sliding the knife back into his boot, shaking his head. Was he _smiling_? She couldn’t be sure. Her fingers were fidgeting with the gauze around her leg, her chin coming forward.

 

Memories of a hot, ripping pain tearing through her leg. Diving at the red of his coat. Darkness. The sole survivor met his gaze with stunning clarity. “I’m not suicidal.” The dreaminess had left her voice, replaced by something hard. “You were reloading and that, that _thing_ was swinging at you.” Her arm was pointing at the distance, towards the scuffle. She paused, softening. “Even immortal Ghouls need their heads, right?” Her eyes were on the ground, and she was muttering angrily. “And I am not _stoned_.”

“Look Sister, maybe there’s some other folks out there might like the damsel routine. But that shit? It ain’t me.” _So that was it_.

 

“You’re bodyguard is a woman.” It wasn’t a question.

 

“Fahrenheit has enough good sense to only step in when _needed_. I don’t gotta worry about draggin’ her half-dead carcass across the Commonwealth because she gets delusions of grandeur and tries to play hero.”

 

“Playing _Hero_? That what we’re going to call it?” She spat angrily, wiping spittle with the back of her hand. The obstinate woman moved to get up. Her leg was threatening to buckle, but she used her hands to claw her body upright against the rocks.

 

“The drama,” a red velvet arm was outstretched, his finger bobbing up and down, tracing her head to toe in the air, “It ain’t cute. Sit down before you tear that leg up any more.” Fire burned in his eyes, and she saw why the people would follow the charismatic freak.

 

She was panting, sweat breaking out across her forehead. _Don’t be so stubborn, Honey._ Nate’s face swam behind her eyes, a strong hand on her shoulder. _I don’t want to see you getting hurt. You’re working too hard._ The scene around her dissolved, their old living room materializing in its stead. It had been the biggest case of her career. There had been threats made about what would happen to her if she showed up in court, but she wasn’t going to back down…

 

A hand was at her shoulder, shaking her. “Nora!” there it was again, the Ghoul was calling her by name. _What is it now? What else do you want to get offended at, huh?_ The words remained unspoken.

 

A rasping question. “Who is _Nate_?”

 

The Med-X had taken hold of her again, and her eyes were glassy. “My dead husband’s name is Nate.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Sometimes he talks to me from the past.”

 

“Jesus-” He held a hand to her forehead. “You’re burnin’ up, doll.” He was steering her towards the ground, digging for water. “When I told that pile of scrap I’d keep an eye on you, this is _not_ what I meant.” He was muttering darkly, shoving the can towards her. “Drink that.” Strange, pruned fingers were gesturing at her. A feeling of dread bloomed in his gut. The Med-X was going to wear off, and they were miles from their destination. He reached to the very back of his mind, clawing at the mental map of landmarks. The vault dweller was out cold. “Fucking terrific,” he spat the curse, rubbing his temples.

 

He gripped her wrist, checking the Pip-Boy. _The old drive in_ … It would have to work. Hancock shrugged the pack on, rubbing his shoulder gingerly with one hand while the other was digging in a red pocket. He pulled forth the wide red bottle, the cap twisting off easily. Buffout or not, this was not going to be a pleasant jaunt. He chewed the bitter pills, returning the bottle to his pocket. Bending at the knee and bracing himself against the rocks, the Mayor of Goodneighbor lifted the sole survivor over one shoulder, her booted feet swaying back and forth with each step. " _This broad."_  He was muttering angrily to himself, bum shoulder protesting the movement.

 

He grunted, huffing with each step. “Doesn’t exactly travel light, does she?”

 

***

 

The smell of stale smoke hung in the air, the loud, hollow thud of the vault dweller’s head meeting the underside of the table erupting beside the Ghoul.

 

“Agh!” she was rubbing small circles into her forehead, sitting up. “Where?” her eyes scanned the burned out diner, coming to rest on the frazzled features of her travelling companion seated opposite her in the booth.

 

“Starlight Drive-In.” Hancock’s tone was brusque. His shoulders slumped forward, and his jaw was tight, the smoldering cigarette between his lips nearly spent.

 

“Hancock I-” Nora couldn’t find her voice, the throbbing in her leg a distraction.

 

“Save it.” He was looking out the filthy window, the moon hanging low on the horizon. Without turning his head, he slid water towards her, the can scraping against the linoleum tabletop. “Been doin’ some thinkin’.”

 

Nora let the silence fall between them, moving her body into a more comfortable position. The pain in her leg moved deep into the tissue and she forced the air out of her mouth as she repositioned it. The water was tepid, but refreshing. Her body felt sticky with day-old sweat, and she was aware of the odor she was giving off. Her thoughts continued to swirl in the silence, interrupted by the rasping voice.

 

“I owe you-” he sighed, taking the last drag off the cigarette and tossing the remains across the aisle. “I’m sorry. What you did for me back there,” he stared at her reflection in the glass. “I got no right to tell you off for tryin’a help this stubborn bastard.”

 

Here reply was immediate. “It’s ok. I was just going to dump you once we got to Sanctuary anyway.” It was the God’s-honest truth and her eyes were clear, meeting his gaze. More silence. “I didn’t think I could trust you.” She slid the water container back towards him. “But now I do.”

 

The Ghoul looked thoughtful, adjusting the tricorn on his head. He gripped his chin, studying her face. “Not many people’d be willing to get maimed for a Ghoul. Even one with my level of charisma.”

 

She was pointing at his shoulder. “You went first.” The smile met her eyes. They seemed to glow through the darkness, unnerving him. “Suppose I should thank you for saving my, what did you call it? Half-dead carcass?”

 

A chuckle reverberated from his grizzled chest, his slight form shaking with the quiet laughter.

 

“So.” the tone was something new. _Friendly?_ He turned the term over in his mind, letting her continue. “You still interested in travelling together?”

 

“I think we got a good thing going here.” His features were light. “I ain’t thinking of skippin’ out on ya if that’s what you mean.” Hancock was sliding back into his cocky second skin. His hands snuck behind his head, the familiar smirk on his lips.

 

“I’ll hold you to that.” Her lawyer-voice made it sound official. And somehow, he knew she would.

 

***

They spent the night resting at the old drive-in, trading foodstuffs and stories. Much to the Ghoul’s surprise, the sole survivor had opened up. He’d even managed to listen without making an ass of himself. The easy companionship was a nice change, neither party holding the other to unrealistic standards. Hancock popped his Mentats, offering her the tin. She’d held up a hand, shaking her head, but there was no judgment in her eyes.

 

“I used to take those when I had to cram. They make me too jittery.” She rubbed her arms up and down, the chill air penetrating the canvas of the vault suit. He had a weird look on his face, and seemed to be trying to form a question.

 

“Cram what?” his voice was puzzled.

 

She was laughing, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “Studying- I was a lawyer. Upheld the law. Fought for people who were being taken advantage of.” A finger tapped her chin, ponderous. “Lawyers had to go to school- college- for a long time to learn all of the laws. We had to pass a test, the Barr.” _Did anyone in the wasteland have a clear picture of the US Education system?_ “It was pretty tough, but Nate-” her voice dropped off, and there was pain in her eyes despite the happy memory. Her hands found their way to the silver chain, the gold band sliding to and fro in her pink fingers. Hancock made a mental note that it matched the gold around her left finger.

_Sometimes he talks to me from the past_. He grimaced at the memory of the whispered confession. That had spelled out a lot. She was alone because her husband was dead. By the way she’d reacted, it was still pretty fresh. He walked the mental tightrope of wanting to know and not wanting to pry, but stayed silent.

 

“Nate bought me my first real suit.” Her fingers ran along her collar, the memory enveloping her. There was a sad smile on her face. “It was the ugliest thing I had ever seen, and way to big.” She mimed oversized shoulders, resting her hands on them. “But he was so god damned proud of having bought me my first suit as a _real_ lawyer…” Nora swept her hair back with a hand, breathing a sigh. “I must’ve kept that thing in the bottom drawer forever, but I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it.” She chuckled, her eyes glassy.

 

John Hancock found himself for the first time in a long time at a loss for words. The playboy had never had anything serious with anybody. Some flings had been long-term, but nothing he’d call special. Living in the Commonwealth usually meant a short life expectancy and that didn’t make for a great argument to be tied down. The look on her face reinforced that concept. He’d cared enough about the revolving door of women in his bed. He just didn’t care to stop the spinning.

 

Nora’s eyes were boring holes into him, and Hancock got the impression it was his turn to share. He was suddenly uncomfortable with the whole situation, though he couldn’t put his finger on the reason. He faked a convincing yawn, stretching his narrow limbs and readjusting his hat. “Been a long day Sister. What’s say we get a little shuteye?” If she’d sensed his discomfort, she certainly hadn’t shown it.

 

“Yeah. Good plan.” The widow worked at rolling the sleeves back down, the chill settling into her bones. The moon was bright through the window, and she found herself thinking about the drive-in and all the times she and Nate had spent there watching monster movies. She’d give anything to be with him, his big warm arms wrapped around her, whiskers ticking at her neck. _Even if the feature was a zombie movie_ … She shivered, chest rising and falling rhythmically as she drifted off to happy daydreams of her dead husband.

 

Scarred hands clutched at the lapels of the jacket, draping it the soft red folds over the electric blue of her vault suit. He didn’t know what had possessed him to do it, telling himself instead that the coat was stuffy in the chill of the night air.

 

The twinkling of the gold band caught his eye as she gripped the jacket in her sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was probably my favorite chapter to write so far. I really hop you all enjoy it :)
> 
> I want to say thank you so much to those of you who have taken the time to comment, Kudo, and bookmark my work. Makes my heart happy!


	16. Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Preston meets Hancock.

**Chapter 16: Sanctuary**

 

It had taken them the better part of the day to get the familiar double R’s of the Red Rocket. She leaned heavily on the Ghoul’s good arm, hobbling along. Nora’s face was twisted in pain, and she had been trying to get her mind off of the deep throbbing at the back of her thigh. Her breath was labored and shallow, dark shadows of sweat blooming over the vault suit.

 

“There,” she tapped his shoulder, pointing straight ahead. “We can stop and rest at the Red Rocket.” She felt the weight of her guilt at leaving Dogmeat with the detective. _I wasn’t ready to face him. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready._ She missed him.

 

Hancock breathed deeply and slipped his arm under her bicep once again. “Hope you don’t mind the brutal honesty Sister, but god damn do you need a bath.”

 

She felt heat of embarrassment seep into her cheeks, but chuckled anyway. “Like you have room to talk?” The sole survivor was secretly pleased with herself for stashing an extra set of clothes in the defunct storefront, and thankful for the sink in the garage.

 

In truth, Nora had thought a lot about the little gas station and Sanctuary. It was emotionally taxing to live in the remains of her old life but she didn’t want to abandon the settlers. The Rocket was the perfect place for her to take up residence and the privacy aspect didn’t hurt either. Some of these musings she had shared with her Ghoul companion, others dissolved into the void of her mind.

 

“Well?” she huffed, sliding the metal door aside. “What do you think?”

 

Hancock’s coal eyes roamed the small space, shaking his head with approval. “It’s cozy-like.” His boot kicked at debris on the floor. “Need’s a homey touch though.” The vault dweller had let go of him and was hobbling towards a cabinet. He looked her over, scrutinizing the bandaged wound on her thigh. It needed washed and possibly redressed.

 

“I figured we could get cleaned up and stay the night here. Get some rest before we head into Sanctuary.” She unwrapped the bandage gingerly, hissing when she had to tug at the fibers stuck to the wound. “How’s it look?”

 

“S’it my birthday or somethin’?” He was chuckling, a smirk spreading to the corners of his mouth.

 

She raised a brow, crossing her arms. “C’mon Hancock. Just tell me if it looks ok.” He moved behind her, crouching until the ugly gash was at eye level. The Stimpaks had done their job well enough, but there was an upside-down _L_ shaped scar forming where the edge of the bludgeon had ripped into the flesh. The new meat was raw and pink, deep purple surrounding it. It was healing well, but looked like it must still be painful. “Well?” her tone was impatient.

 

“Now that’s a view a guy could get used to.” There was the overconfidence. “Seriously though? Look’s like it hurts like hell.” The mayor got to his feet. “The wound’s healed up real nice, lotta bruising though.”

 

She’d disappeared into the garage, dragging the pack and pile of clothing awkwardly. Hancock could hear the sound of running water, her voice carrying over it. “There’s a stool behind the counter if you want to sit. I’ll try not to take too long.” He listened beside the doorway, his back to the garage. His gaze was trained on something out the window, lanky arms crossed over his chest. He heard a noise suggestive of the vault suit’s zipper and the swishing of fabric. Her voice was shrill.

 

“Gah!”

 

He jumped, jerking his shoulder painfully.

 

“That water is _cold_!” She shoved her head under the freezing stream, making unintelligible noises of discomfort. The scent of soap filled the air, and he breathed it in, old memories playing behind his eyelids. Of all the women he’d bedded, his favorites had smelled faintly of soap. Cleanliness was a luxury in the waste, and Diamond City had introduced him to the Commonwealth citizens that could afford it. They would fall for his soft sand-colored locks and storm-grey eyes. All he’d had to do was run his hand through the cowlick and bat his lovely eyelashes at them, and his status would cease to be an issue to the fresh smelling women of the Upper Stands.

 

He ran a hand over the rugged texture of his head, the tricorn gripped in the other.

 

The sound of water had ceased, and he heard the soft patting of bare feet against the concrete. There was more shuffling of fabric, and her face was peering around the doorframe, wet hair pulled towards the crown of her head.

 

“Just think of it as being refreshing and it’s not so bad.” She grasped at the shock of hair on the top of her head, wringing the excess water out onto the floor. The worn flannel was oversized, covering most of her torso, but leaving her lower thighs exposed. She’d rolled the sleeves to her elbows, and stood pigeon toed. “Sink’s all yours.” Her face was weary as she brushed past him to head for the small interior room. Angry purple glared from just under the hem of the shirt and her gait was uncoordinated.

He stepped into the garage, the smell of soap mingling with old oil and machines. The fist-sized white bar rested on the lip of the sink and he smiled to himself. The milk of her legs drifted through his mind as he scrubbed the dreck from his ruined skin. He lingered on the thought longer than was wise, pitching a handful of cold water over his face. _Get yer mind outta the gutter, ya dirty bastard._ He knew what happened when you mixed business with pleasure. _Get the job done while havin’ fun._ There was amused grin on his face, and he shook his head.

There was just something about an attractive woman wearing a man’s shirt… He chuckled to himself, recalling various women over the years that had shared his bed. Many would sneak into his drawers at night, and he would wake to find them garbed in his favorite shirts, much to his chagrin. It’d been hell getting them back once he’d shooed the ladies away, and he’d eventually learned to hide them when he had company. In Goodneighbor, he couldn’t recall just how many had begged him to wear the frock coat afterwards. They’d made up all manner of excuses, trying to paw at its bell sleeves and oversized buttons. John had always thought it was the tricorn that made the ladies swoon, but something about red velvet…

 

The playboy-turned-Ghoul tugged the breeches back to his waist, the pirate-style hat sitting haphazardly on his head. The chill of the concrete nipped at his bare feet, but it was a pleasant sensation. He slid the door as quietly as he could, stepping into the open air to smoke. The soft pale of the moon reflected in the water droplets clinging to his bare torso. He recalled the way the red of her hair had nearly matched the frayed lapels of his frock coat, exhaling a plume of smoke as if releasing the memory into the irradiated atmosphere.

 

***

The sweet smell of detergent met his olfactory senses, and he squinted his eyes open, a shock of red and steel grey coming into focus. The vault dweller was shaking him gently to wake him up, her voice soft. There was something really pleasant about it but the thought dispersed as quickly as it had materialized, like leftover impressions of a dream. Nora looked well rested, and had tucked the flannel into a pair of leather trousers, gun belt around her hips and rifle at her back.

 

“Aren’t you cold?” something like amusement played behind her eyes, and she was shoving the long vest and coat at him. He’d fallen asleep on the bar stool at some point, a few empty inhalers scattered across the countertop.

 

Hancock was running a sandpaper-textured tongue over the roof of his mouth, clucking. “We got any water?” There was a fog in his bleary eyes. The sound of glass sliding over the surface caught his attention as she pushed a Nuka Cola towards him.

 

“I think you need a little pick me up.” The Ghoul was frowning at her. “What?” her voice rang with mock offense.

 

“Sister, when I think about a pick me up, I damn sure ain’t talkin’ about two-century old soda.” There was a hiss as he twisted the cap off with a grizzled hand, a slight metallic sound has he busied his fingers with the cap, his mind elsewhere.

 

“Hancock.” She had something to share.

 

“Somethin’ weighing on ya?” his hands played at the bottle, bringing it to his mouth. He wasn’t the biggest fan of the contents of the rocket-shaped bottles, but he was thankful for the bubbles clearing out the dryness in his throat.

 

“Yeah.” There was something she was holding back, trying to keep a handle on. “I wanted to tell you why we’re here.” She swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to keep her tone even. _He deserves to know_. Whatever it was, it was painful.

 

“Go on.” The voice was gentle, not goading. He didn’t know why, but being strung along was making him anxious.

 

“When I-” she paused, “Let me start again.” Her hand was running nervously through her hair, cascading strands falling over her eyes only to be pulled back again. “My husband didn’t make it out of the vault. He was murdered.” She pushed on, ignoring the sounds coming from her companion. “A mercenary named Kellogg. I- I killed him. But that’s not important.” She felt her heart hammering against her ribcage, and took slow, even breaths in an attempt to slow it down. “He took my son, Shaun.” Her story was becoming disjointed, and it was frustrating her.

 

Hancock’s mouth was agape. He could form no words, his mind reduced to _Hold on, she’s got a kid?_

 

“My family ran to the vault the day the bombs were dropped. Vault 111 sealed us into cryopods. At some point, Kellogg and some Institute scientists unfroze us. I was stuck behind the glass. I saw-“ her voice was breaking, but she was stubborn. “I saw Kellogg put two bullets in his chest, and they took my baby.” She was blinking furiously, her knuckles white against the counter. “And now the Institute has him and I’m trying to find them so I can find him.” She turned brusquely away, wiping frantically at her eyes.

 

“That’s some heavy shit.” His words hung in the air. His mind wandered back to her time in Goodneighbor. She’d been with Valentine- they’d been looking for _the kid_. _So that’s why the tin man went so far out of his way for the vault dweller_.

 

He got to his feet shrugging on the vest, then the frock coat. “Well then what’re we waiting for? Let’s get this show on the road, Sister.” She nodded the affirmative, her back still facing him.  The mile walk to Sanctuary was a very quiet walk.

 

***

Nora wondered if walking into the bombed-out remains of her old neighborhood would ever stop being surreal. It was doubtful. Part of her was surprised at Hancock’s silence. She’d half-expected him to be making jokes and quips, but his mouth had been set in a grim line and he’d busied himself with scanning the horizon for trouble. He raised the shotgun at the incoming figure, but Nora’s hand was out, coaxing the double barrels towards the ground.

 

“It’s ok. He’s a friend.” Her face seemed to lift, the Minuteman’s steps bounding towards her, his arms open and enveloping her in a big hug. The corner of the Ghoul’s mouth twitched.

 

“It’s good to have you back, soldier.” He was cuffing her shoulder, his eyes warm. A fingertip went to the brim of her hat, pushing it up. “Takin’ good care of my hat, I see.”

 

A small smile creased the corners of her mouth. “Keeps the sun outta my eyes.” She looked behind him, eyes taking in the scenery. “Looks like you guys have done a lot while I’ve been gone. Place looks great.” She was avoiding the inevitable conversation about the reason for her visit.

 

Preston’s eyes fell on the Ghoul. Hancock prickled at the man’s gaze on him. “New friend?” Preston was addressing Nora and she didn’t like his tone. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

 

“This is John Hancock, the _Mayor_ of Goodneighbor and I wouldn’t be standing here with you right now if not for him. He deserves your respect.” There was an authority to her voice that Preston wasn’t willing to test.

 

John’s expression was jovial, and he’d lit a cigarette, swaggering towards the two. “S’alright Sister. Not everybody can handle this much raw _animal magnetism_.” There was a disingenuous smirk on his face.

 

“The Mayor’s reputation precedes him, but if you think he’s trustworthy the I’m on board.” He was watching the Ghoul in his peripheral vision, uneasy. He turned and as a show of good faith, stuck out a calloused hand. “Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen.”

 

Hancock’s gaze drifted to the man’s outstretched palm, his arms remaining crossed while he exhaled a plume of smoke. “Charmed.”

 

Nora stepped between the two, irritation etched into her features. “Can we please drop the pissing contest? Honestly!” She threw her hands in the air, hobbling towards the hub of the town. Her two companions were left staring each other down, each waiting for the other to take the first step. It was Hancock, and he’d shoved a hand in his pocket, pulling out the tin of Mentats and sprinkling some onto his outstretched tongue. The hand swung sideways to Preston. “You want?” He was peacocking.

 

The Minuteman made a face at him, holding up a hand. “I prefer to live my life in an unaltered state, thanks.” His tone turned serious. “I see you anywhere near Mama Murphy with those, and we’re gonna have problems. Understand?”

 

The Ghoul was amused. “You got it, officer.”

 

Preston could hear the sound of the zombie’s teeth crunching the drugs into paste. _What possessed Nora to travel with this monster?_ His mood had turned sour, and the Minuteman kept his eyes trained on the sole survivor several paces ahead of them. _Maybe it has something to do with that red frock coat?_ He shook his head at the ludicrous thought, lengthening his steps. Hancock was nonchalant, letting his dark comrade leave him to bring up the rear.

 

 _He deserves your respect_. She had certainly earned bonus points with him for that one. He hadn’t expected it to feel like such a compliment, and pushed the thought aside, focusing on the chalky flavor in his mouth and the way it made his senses tingle.

 

***

The rest of the day had gone smoother, the two men mostly steering clear of one another while Nora visited with the settlers. Sturges had been happy to see her, but his face had dropped when she told him she was requisitioning the power armor. They had sat across from one another on the ancient furniture, conferencing about the reality of radiation-proofing the suit. He’d given her a run-down of the repairs that she’d need to make and the scrapping it was going to take to make it possible. Hancock had listened from the corner, pretending to be absorbed with the grime under his fingernails.

 

 _What the hell’s she want with a radiation-proof suit?_ He was puzzling it out, picking distractedly at a hangnail. It wasn’t that Hancock thought she was leaving him out on purpose, she’d just told him all she could manage for the moment.

 

 _They took her fucking kid._ He’d heard the rumors and horror stories about the Institute. Hell, there had even been a few impersonators trying to move in on Goodneighbor. But stealing a kid? A _baby_? And why? What did they hope to accomplish? Hancock was sure all of these thoughts and more had circled the sole survivor’s brain many times over.

 

Preston had approached Nora as she and Sturges were finishing up. There was a serious look on his face, and he’d placed a sizable hand on her shoulder, asking her something out of the Ghoul’s earshot. The pair of them had stood, wandering outside into the red-orange glow of the sunset. The vault dweller had met Hancock’s gaze, giving him the slightest nod. “ _It’s ok. I’ll be right back.”_ He’d imagined her voice in his head.

 

The Minuteman and the vault dweller walked side by side. Nora’s hands were in her pockets, Preston’s arms crossed over his chest.

 

“So, there’s something I need to ask you.” The sudden sound of his voice startled her. “I guess you know I’m one of the last of the minutemen, but I never really told you what happened to us.”

 

She was confused. “Are you really the _last_ Minuteman?”

 

“Maybe not literally,” his voice trailed off. “There must be a lot of former Minutemen out there who gave it up in disgust after Quincy.” His features had twisted at the mention of the town. Nora was curious, but didn’t feel the need to pry.

 

He continued, his voice calming. “We were the last active group of Minutemen and now, well… it’s just me.” There was a sadness to his voice that she could relate to.

 

“I know how it feels to be the last survivor.” She placed a hand on his arm, giving it a squeeze.

 

“I guess you do. That’s why I’m talking to you.” Dark eyes met her questioning gaze. “ _I_ can’t rebuild the Minutemen, but I think _you_ can.”

 

Nora was taken aback, stopping in her tracks. “Why can’t you lead the Minutemen?” _Why is he telling me this? I can’t rebuild the Minutemen!_

 

“That’s not who I am. I can get my men through a firefight. I can defend a perimeter against all odds. But that’s not going to be enough to bring the Minutemen back from the brink.” He breathed in deeply, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder, and looking her in the eye. “We need someone who can bring the whole Commonwealth together in a common cause. And I think you’ve got it in you to be that leader.”

 

“What makes you think I can do this?” her thoughts drifted to Nate and the countless pep-talks he’d given her whenever she began to doubt herself. _You’re a natural leader, hon’. Who else is going to step up to help these people? You’re doing an amazing job._

 

Preston’s voice was strong and deep. “You saved us in Concord. There wasn’t anything in it for you. You had your own problems to deal with, _but you did it anyway_.” Now there were two hands, one on each shoulder. His eyes were warm. “That kind of selflessness has been in mighty short supply around here for quite a while.” Nora stared into his face at a loss for words.

 

“What do you say? Will you be the leader the commonwealth needs? Will you _rebuild_ the Minutemen?” She felt the weight of his words, feeling like the ground was slipping away from her. _Why me?_ The familiar tenor of Nate’s voice echoed between her ears. _Because you care about people, Nora. You believe in what the world can be, not what it is. The world doesn’t have to be ugly._ He’d said it to her a long time ago- _a lifetime_ ago, but here the words were again and she felt herself caving. _If not you, then who?_

 

“I-Yes. Yes, I will help you rebuild the Minutemen.”

 

His dark features swam back into focus, and the smile stretched the width of his face. “Don’t worry I’ll be right beside you all the way… General.” The smile turned into an idiotic grin.

 

A look of genuine confusion played over her features. “Why are you calling me _General_?”

 

“The leader of the Minutemen has always held the rank of General.” He chuckled. “The one good thing about being the last of the Minutemen is that there’s no one to argue with me when I say that you’re the new General. Now it’s your job to make that more than an empty title.” He cuffed her shoulder, wrapping an arm around her as they turned to head back to the main building of the settlement. She imagined Nate’s smile, full of pride on that day. _I am so proud of you. You made the right decision._ She’d finally chosen law school to serve as a public defender. _To help those who can’t help themselves._

 

The last rays of light disappeared over the horizon, and Hancock flicked the spent cigarette into the night, feeling churlish at the sight of them. The Minuteman got under his skin with the whole _savior of the Commonwealth_  routine, and now he was trying to rope Nora into something. _I’m just lookin’ out for the widow, after all._  But he wasn’t sure that he believed the voice in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have been leaving me some really lovely, heartfelt comments and I have to tell you how much I appreciate them. It means so much to me that I am making people happy :)
> 
> Hoooooly shit. I really liked writing this one, but it is TRICKY walking that teeter-totter. 
> 
> Up next: Let's go kill some shit at the Corvega Plant, shall we? Yes, we shall!  
> Muahahahaha.
> 
> :D


	17. General Responsibilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where they go to the Corvega Plant.

**Chapter 17: General Responsibilities**

 

The power armor was on the lift, and Hancock saw the way she scrutinized it, taking in every detail, every inconsistency. He didn’t like the obsessed look in her eyes. There was hunger there, desperation. _That kinda shit leads nowhere good, Sister_. But he kept his thoughts under the three corners of his hat. His thoughts drifted to the irradiated hell that was the Glowing Sea. Ghoul travellers making their way through Goodneighbor had sometimes shared stories about it, none of them good.

 

They had enlisted the help of some of the settlers in fixing up the Red Rocket while the pair was out scavenging parts for the power armor. Preston had given Hancock a strange look when the vault dweller had told him about making the old gas station a residence. _A warning? Or something else?_ The Ghoul had just smirked his trademark smirk, fingers laced behind his head. They had transformed the small room into a bedroom of sorts, complete with a bed in an actual frame, side table, and small dresser. He had been content with a comfortable chair. “Don’t sleep much, we’re good,” was all he’d said about it.

 

The original cabinets just outside the room had been repurposed as a makeshift pantry, and more stools had been added to the counter. Most of the garage had been cleared to house the power armor, worktables, tools, and parts. Sturges had managed to get a radio working, and the sounds of classical music drifted into the rest of the dwelling from the garage.

 

“So _General_ ,” he was poking at her. “What’s on today’s agenda?”

 

She rose from her crouched position, her eyes focused. “We’re going to go talk to some settlers a little ways from here. From what Preston said, they are having some issues with raiders.” She placed a hand on the workstation next to her, leaning her weight on it and rubbing at her temples with one hand. “Figured we could also do some scrapping while we’re at it. Two birds.”

 

He rolled his eyes dramatically. “We gotta go junk-huntin’ _again_?” a secretive smile played on his lips. These jaunts were his favorite kind. The open air, the possibility of a good fight. It got his blood pumping. _Company didn’t hurt either_. “I have a sneaking suspicion that you just like those ancient tchotchkes.” He gestured at the few animated bobble head figures displayed on a shelf.

 

It was a strange feeling trying to build a life in the post-apocalyptic Commonwealth. Making a place for herself -both the residence and her position with the Minutemen- had felt right when so few things did. There was a constant knot of guilt in her guts about Shaun, but it kept her moving forward. _I’ll find you. Soon._

 

She tossed an empty duffle his direction. “Look alive, recruit.”  He caught it with one hand, shooting her a mocking salute.

 

***

Nora had gotten used to the ghoul’s bawdy sense of humor. She’d even found herself firing back or playing along from time to time. He was quite a peacock, there was no way around it. Her initial reservations about travelling with him had pealed away, making room for more authentic interactions between the pair.

 

“Can we talk?” he stopped, turning to face his companion.

 

She paused, letting the rifle hang from her shoulder. “Sure. What’s up?” Her hand was running through soft locks to push the errant strands from her face.

 

He looked upset about something. “Just you takin’ care of Bobbi. I ain’t proud of having to put you through that. That sort of dictatorial shit. Ain’t usually my style.”

 

Her eyebrow quirked, somewhat confused by the apology. “It’s not a big deal.”

 

Hancock was musing out loud. “See that’s where you’re wrong. Abusing power like that, it _is_ a big deal. Hell, that sorta bull’s the whole reason I became mayor in the first place.” Coal eyes stared through her as the memory materialized.

 

She nodded, letting him continue the story. There was something important to him about sharing these memories with her, but she couldn’t quite grasp why he’d decided to open up. It seemed unlike him to be so serious, and she felt a pang of guilt at thinking of him as a little more than a caricature.

 

“When I finally came to I was on the floor of the old State House. Right in front of the clothes of John Hancock.” He paused for dramatic effect, his hands framing the imaginary scene. “John Hancock, first American hoodlum and defender of the people. I might’ve still been high but those clothes _spoke_ to me, told me what I needed to do.” There was a familiar fire in his eyes. “I smashed the case, put them on, and started a new life. As _Hancock_.” He put special emphasis on the name, pantomiming an imaginary banner in front of him and placing his hands on his hips.

 

“You don’t _actually_ think the clothes of John Hancock spoke to you, right?” She looked at him sideways.

 

The quip was unexpected, and he stumbled over his words. “Nah, I just felt, you know, a connection.” Their eyes met for a moment, and she got the distinct sense he was talking about something else. He cleared his throat. “Seemed like he and I were dealing with the same shit: serious oppression.”

 

A question lingered in her mind. “You fought so hard to become Mayor. Why leave?” Her eyes were level.

 

His expression was light. “I ain’t really the ponderous type. When an instinct takes hold, I listen.” He eyed her up and down. “This time around, instinct said I should join up with you. Seems like a good one.”

 

***

Their destination wasn’t much more than a shack with an adjoining crop of tato plants. Nora saw the potential of the site, and hoped to represent the Minutemen in such a way that would further their cause. _We need all the support we can get_. Preston’s baritone was ringing in her ears. She sucked in a breath, readjusting her hat, and pushed forward, stepping between the plants.

 

“Are you with the Minutemen?” the woman’s voice sounded strained.

 

“We are.” She met the settler’s nervous eyes, Hancock hanging back. “Heard you were having some trouble. What seems to be the problem?” _What seems to be the problem? What are you, a cop?_

 

The farmer was describing the recent raider attacks, gesturing at a patch of land that looked burned out. “We used to have more plants, but they keep attacking and stealing or destroying our crops.” Nora felt a familiar anger boiling up inside. It was the same righteous anger that had propelled her to success in her career as a lawyer. The fire that fueled her determination to triumph over corruption.

 

“We’ll take care of those raiders for you.” She proffered her arm towards the settler, the map screen up on the Pip-Boy. “Can you show us where you think they’re coming from?”

 

The woman pointed to the outskirts of the city. “Seem’s like they’re holed up in the old Corvega plant, here.” She was tapping at the screen with a dirt-clod finger. “Gotta be honest, we never thought anyone would answer our call. Thank you.”

 

Color rose into the sole survivor’s cheeks, and she wished the settlers well, walking back to Hancock. He was genuinely impressed with the way she’d handled the situation.

 

“Might be hope for you yet, General.” The Ghoul was smirking, something more playing behind his eyes.

 

She fired back. “So who ranks higher, a mayor or a general?” A finger was tapping overdramatically against her chin. “I wonder…”

 

“Got me there, sister.” He was trifling with the Mentats in his pocket. “Better be careful though- I might like bein’ bossed around.”

 

Nora was rolling her eyes, the two of them stepping lively along the railroad tracks heading downtown.

 

***

 The shuttered car plant was a giant labyrinth both inside and out. There were copious amounts of stairs leading every direction. She was staring through the scope, trying to pick out the raiders’ positions and save them some firefighting. Hancock knelt next to her, his eyes bright with his Mentat-enhanced powers of perception.

 

“I see a way in over there.” The Ghoul was pointing a wrinkled finger towards the distant blue rectangle, his other hand resting on the shotgun across his lap.

 

“There don’t seem to be many raiders outside. I think if we’re careful, we can sneak our way up there.” The red of her hair reflected the sunlight to a dazzling effect. Hancock was rolling with the high, senses lifted. The faint scent of soap caught in his nose, blown on the breeze that swept past their crouched forms. Together they crept out of hiding, Hancock covering the rear. Nora stepped silently as she could but somehow they’d been spotted. _Electric blue jumpsuit and bright red frock coat. How could they miss us?_ She spat a curse, lining up her shot. Bullets zinged past the pair, and Hancock was bounding up the corrugated steps, overeager.

 

“You’re going the wrong way!” she hissed at his retreating form, but he’d either not heard her, or purposely ignored her. Steel eyes scanned the landscape looking for movement. _There._ She brought the sight ring to her eye, pulling the trigger once, twice. The distant figure crumbled and she was sighting the next. The telltale blasts of Hancock’s shotgun thundered in the distance, and she spotted him, cornering a fiend on the upper levels of the stairs. “Like a dog with a bone.” She was shaking her head.

 

The blue portal was one floor away from the landing under her boots. The vault dweller checked for nearby movement, making her way up the metal flight of stairs. She let her impatience get the better of her, slipping through the double doors. Echoes of strange sounds carried across the vast interior of the plant. Spotlights had been installed, and Nora followed the sweeping lights to their respective points of origin, checking for movement before shooting them down. The bulbous silver lamps tumbled from the walls, bulbs shattering on the textured surface of the metal walkways. Angry voices met her ears. The raiders were looking for her.

 

She crept slowly away from the doors, eyes following the elevated paths across the arena. Her eyes went wide at the soft _clink_ of the pin being pulled and the metallic bounce of the impending grenade. _Where the fuck is it?_ Her brain was scrambling but there it was, to her right. She dove forward, catching her shoulder on the deck as she rolled out of the way, feeling the heat of the explosion ripple through the air. Bullets sizzled through the dim. The sole survivor had been spotted.

***

Hancock’s medicated eyesight strained, looking for the electric blue he’d become accustomed to. _Where the hell did she go?_ He’d looted the few raiders he’d taken down along the steel walkways, heading for the blue double doors that he’d originally spotted. _Still no sign of her._ She’d been impatient that morning, over eager. He had a sneaking suspicion that the vault dweller had disappeared into the colossal pit without him. An impish grin played on his features. _Only one way to find out_. He kicked open the doors, eyes darting around.

 

The popping sounds of gunfire rang out across the distance. Coal eyes searched frenetically. He was eager to bring the fight to the scum. Screams sounded in the distance, a raider’s lifeless body somersaulting over the railing. Her ran towards the commotion, eyes darting back and forth across the scene. A crazed figure seemed to appear out of thin air, and dropped just as quickly, the double barrels of the shotgun smoking. “God these bastards are dumb.”

 

There was a streak of blue in his periphery, and his body swung around to follow the blur.

 

Nora was on the run, putting distance between herself and the fiend with a Molotov cocktail. The oversized beast was winding up, his arm flinging backwards. The blast of buckshot caught him in the back and the bottle crashed to the floor, flames engulfing the dying man. The vault dweller continued forward, shooting a grin over her shoulder at him. She was coming to the edge of the walkway, an office platform across the gulf. Her eyes darted around looking for a mechanism as the turret trained its electronic sights on her. Hot pellets rained from the gun, and she dove forward, chin scraping against the corrugation. She let out an alarmed cry, identifying the hulking figure towering over her. _Raider_!

 

She felt the blood stream down her neck, the smell of copper in her nostrils. “You’re dead!” Her oversized opponent drew back the mahogany baseball bat to swing for maximum impact. Her hand went instinctively to her side, drawing the revolver. The sound filled her ears, her attacker falling densely to his knees and dropping forward onto her. She shoved with all her might, rolling the corpse away from her and getting to her feet. Her heart was in her throat as she turned, coming face to face with Hancock.

 

“Tryin’ to have all the fun without me?” his eyes danced in the low light, amused.

 

Nora’s eyes fell on the glowing button of the handrail and she smashed her palm into it with a grin. “It’s not over yet.” Her hand went to her belt, yanking down on the metal egg, the pin dropping through the grate with a tinkling sound. She wound up, pitching the grenade into the small space, listening to the alarmed cries of their hidden foes.

 

His eyes were on her as the ramp chugged slowly forward. There was an animated look on her face, and blood clotting at her chin. Her hands moved, instinctively gripping the rifle and her hair was on fire in the warm tungsten. “Woman after my own heart.”

 

***

It had taken them hours to pick through the Corvega Plant, but Nora had come away with several impressive tools and pieces of scrap to use on the power armor. The pair walked side by side, and she was handing him back the open can of water they were sharing. Their packs were heavy and it was slow going getting back to the small homestead. They followed the railroad tracks as they had previously, trading anecdotes and quips as they made their way along the gritty landscape.

 

“Hancock.” His name lingered in the air. “Just wanted to know how you think we’re doing?”

 

“I feel like we’re seeing eye to eye.” He paused, swigging from the can. “And extended eye contact with a ghoul takes some guts.”

 

Nora chuckled, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. “Don’t act like you don’t like all that sustained attention, Mr. Braggadocio.” It made her happy to be getting along so well. The pain of Nick had faded to a dull throbbing in her heart, and she was looking up. _Maybe we’ll pay him a visit soon._

 

The Ghoul opened his mouth to quip, but her voice was in his ear. “There it is.” She was pointing the direction of the small shack. They could just barely make out the sunset-colored vegetables. Something in her face changed, and the pack was dropping to the ground as her body lunged forward. Hancock saw it too, following suit.

 

Hulking green figures were descending on the little farm, and the settlers were running away. Shots rang out in the distance, and Nora watched the woman fall. She dipped into the well of anger in her chest, barreling forward. Dropping to a knee, she skidded over the ground, the butt of the rifle at her shoulder. The bullets exploded out the back of the monster’s head and he fell with a satisfying thud to the dirty ground.

 

Hancock surged forward, holding off until he the beast was upon him to unleash his fury. His passion for protecting citizens of the Commonwealth was etched into every savage line in his face. That fire drove him forward and he prowled the landscape like an angry lion, taking down anything that got in his way.

 

A pitiful sound met her ears, and the vault dweller turned, her feet carrying her to the fallen settler. _She’s alive_! The woman’s dark features were several shades lighter than normal. She looked like she had gone into shock. Nora’s eyes moved to the ugly wound at the settler’s calf, and she pulled a Stimpak from her pocket, looking into dark, frightened eyes.

 

“Everything’s going to be ok.” She prodded the needle into the woman as gently as she could, slowly depressing the plunger and letting the chems do their work. Nora held the woman’s hand, speaking softly. The thunder of the shotgun blasts had died away, and Hancock stood across the paltry garden from them, watching his companion. Something warm moved around his guts and into his chest, a small voice in his head. _You’re in trouble, John_.

 

***

John had gone off to look for the settler that had managed to escaped the battle unscathed while the General patched up one of her citizens. The woman’s wound had been cleaned and treated, and she was lying on a filthy mattress in the shed. Her farmhand companion rushed into the tiny room, dropping to her side and holding her hand.

 

“Thank you- I,” there were tears lining the bottom of her eyes. “She’d be dead if not for the two of you.” The woman turned back to her injured partner, fussing at her leg.

 

Nora’s patient looked up at her. “After all you done for us, you have our support for the Minutemen. We’ll do whatever we can to help.” Deep color rose into Nora’s cheeks, the edges of her eyes creased with happiness.

 

“Thank you. That means a lot.” The sole survivor got to her feet, leaning her head side to side to crack her neck. “We have to get moving before we lose the daylight, but I will send reinforcements to help you set up some defenses.” Her voice was clear and authoritative. “You have my word on that.”

 

The settlers nodded, “Yes, General.”

 

And for the first time since stepping out of Vault 111, Nora felt like her old self again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG YOU GUYS.
> 
> No secret I love me some Ghouls. So, I'm talking to husband last night, and came upon the realization that Ghouls age really slowly! (DUH) What if CHARON decided he was bored with the Capital Wasteland and just happened to migrate to the Commonwealth with that lovely contract of his?
> 
> *sparkle eyes* TWO SASSY GHOUL-FRIENDS.
> 
> My drabble-senses are tingling.
> 
> Next up: 2 sassy Ghoul-Friends fall in love with the sole survivor and they have sexy parties.
> 
> Actual Next up: Good times, bad times. Everybody wants a shoulder to cry on...  
> Oh, yeah, and the Brotherhood probably shows up. Sorry I didn't keep that part quite cannon, but... reasons.


	18. The Locket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where they hang out with the Abernathys.

**Chapter 18: The Locket**

 

Hancock had decided he liked the crazy old soothsayer. He’d taken to sitting with her in the when Nora was out walking the perimeter with Preston. The Ghoul was still trying to suss out whether the old bag was more than just a junkie. So far, he hadn’t been convinced but enjoyed her company regardless.

 

“A woman out of time and a man without a home. You’ve wandered a long time but oh, you’ll find it.”

 

He made a face at her. “You tellin me I’m finally gonna find…” a pregnant pause for emphasis. “That one toe I been missing?” He was chortling, exhaling a puff of smoke towards the ceiling. Mama Murphy just shook her head, a secretive smile gracing her features. “C’mon, why you gotta be so cryptic all the time? Give it to me straight, pretty lady- what’s my future?” He was holding out a palm, an amused grin on his ruined features.

 

Mama Murphy inhaled a rattling breath, her eyelids heavy. “I just tell you what the Sight tells me, kid.” She looked tired and frail, her gaunt form dwarfed by the oversized chair. “And it’s telling me that you’re gonna find something you don’t know you’re looking for.”

 

Nora was leaning against the corner of the doorframe, listening in on the two. She’d snuck up on them a few minutes prior, and didn’t want to interrupt. Her face was serene, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Mama Murphy’s attention turned to the sole survivor. “Good meeting, I take it?”

 

Hancock jumped slightly, surprised that he hadn’t picked up on her presence. She was smirking at him, and ran a hand through her hair. The look on her face was tired, but content. He understood the feeling. Lately, most of their daylight hours were spent helping nearby settlements or scavenging for parts. Nora had gotten a whole system down, her eagle eyes scanning every nook and cranny. _“No stone unturned!”_ she’d exclaim to his protests. She was handy with a bobby pin too. He smiled at the thought of her crouching on the floor and cursing at the locks until they sprang open with a satisfying click.

 

Nora was nodding at Mama Murphy. “I’ve just come for my Ghoul friend here.” The two women were laughing conspiratorially.

 

“You forgot to put the _sexy_ in front of it.” He was flashing his teeth at her. I’m gonna let that slide… This time.” The vault dweller shook her head, turning to grab the oversized pack from the floor.

 

“You ready to hit the road, Sister?” he jerked his thumb towards the door. She nodded to him, rubbing the exhaustion from her eyes.

 

“We’ll need to make an early night of it if we’re going to help the Abernathy family tomorrow,” she paused, making a face. “ _Sexy_ Ghoul friend.” Her tone was sarcastic. A yawn escaped her parched lips, and she busied herself biting at the edges of them in thought.

 

“Safe travels, kid.” Mama Murphy looked like she was falling asleep in the chair. Hancock stood, stretching his limber arms towards the ceiling, and scratching the back of his neck. His gaze turned to the old fortune-teller, and he spread a tattered blanket over her lap.

 

“Until next time, Mama.” He patted her knee heading for the door.

 

 _You’re gonna find something you’re not looking for_. He wiggled the toes in his boots, a smirk playing across his face.

 

The air was cool on their faces, the last of the sunlight slipping past the horizon as they crossed the old wooden bridge. Nora’s steps were light. Something in her had changed over the past few weeks as she had settled into her leadership position. She held her head a little higher, and seemed to be able to put aside more of her grief the more good she was doing. John identified with her there. _Plenty of folks want to make life hard for people just tryin’ to survive. I’m not willing to stand for that kinda shit._

 

A genuine smile lit up his face and he was looking at Nora. “I feel like we’ve done some real damn good lately, Sister.”

 

She met his gaze with a tired smile. “We have, haven’t we?” The sole survivor paused, thinking. “I never thought I’d feel this way again after stepping out of that vault. Everything…Everything was just so different.” Her eyes were on the ground, scanning the inane details of the asphalt. “I didn’t feel like I could _do_ anything. I couldn’t _help_ Nate. Couldn’t _save_ Shaun-” she sighed, toying with the silver chain. “But working with the Minutemen while I look for my son- Its like I have _purpose_ again. Like even if I don’t find him-” her voice grew hoarse, a look of pain contorting her features. Guilt was constricting in her guts again. _How can you be so selfish?_ She sighed, running a hand through the shock of red.

 

“Now you listen to me, Nora,” his eyes were severe. “I don’t wanna hear that kind of bullshit coming outta your mouth. What you’re doing for these people,” he spread his arms wide as if to demonstrate, “It’s damn important.” His gaze was too intense and she dropped her eyes back to the ground.

 

“You know, I had my doubts when I agreed to travel with you.” His voice had softened slightly.

 

Her left eyebrow was raised in defiance. “Oh yeah, what kind of doubts?”

 

“You kiddin’ me? You looked like you’d fallen out of the vault that day.” He was smirking at her. “I thought I’d see you pickin’ your teeth outta the gutter by sun up.” He was lighting a cigarette, the cherry illuminating the hills and valleys of his face in the dark. “Its just real rare these days. Findin’ someone who’s not willing to take things the way they’re handed to them. Too many good folks not willing to get their hands dirty and too many assholes taking advantage of it.” He was blowing elegant smoke rings into the sky, his mind wandering with his musings.

 

“The world doesn’t have to be ugly,” came the simple response, and she was moving her feet again, the glow of the Red Rocket on the horizon.

 

***

 

“That’s close enough stranger. We’re a peaceful farm and we don’t want no trouble.” The farmer’s Bostonian accent was heavy. He wore tattered jeans, a patched up flannel and a trenchcoat. There were two other settlers roaming the field and checking at the abundant tato crop. Nora assumed they were the man’s family.

 

“Neither do we. I’m here on behalf of the Minutemen. Heard you could use some help.” Her weapon was holstered, and she kept her arms away from her sides, choosing instead to cross them loosely over her chest.

 

“You don’t say! I thought the Minutemen were all gone… Blake Abernathy.” He stuck out a gloved hand. “You new to the Commonwealth?”

 

“Yes. As a matter of fact I am.” She took his hand, giving it a good shake. _New to this century’s model at least_.

 

“Good to see a new face.” His features had relaxed somewhat. “Ever think about working the land?”

 

She found her mind wandering back in time. Codsworth had always tended to the rose bushes as Nora had never been much of a green thumb. Nate had bought her a cactus to take care of as a joke before he’d left for the war. When he’d returned it was beyond dead, a victim of overwatering.  “What do you need to start up a farm?”

 

Blake smiled warmly. “My father would have told you the three Ls: Land, Labor and Love.” He counted them off on each fingertip. “You gotta have land to work, you gotta put in a full day’s labor, and you gotta love what you do. Anyone who doesn’t ain’t gonna last long.” It was good advice.

 

“Your father was a wise man.” Her smile was sad.

 

He placed a hand on her arm, sensing her pain. “I suppose I should get down to why we need the Minutemen. In a word, Raiders.”

 

Blake Abernathy told her the story of his daughter and how she had fought the raiders, another casualty of the waste. “Mary was only twenty-one years old.” His grief deepened the lines in his face and a piece of Nora’s heart broke all over again for the loss of her own son.

 

“We’ll clear out the raiders. You have my word on that.” They were the only words of comfort she could manage.

 

Blake’s face was grim. “I have one last favor to ask you. I know it’s foolish, but she had a silver locket, and-well,” There were tears at the corners of his eyes. “If you happen to find it while you’re out there, we’d sure appreciate getting it back.”

 

“I’m sure I can find it.” There was a spark of determination in her eyes. John watched her interacting with the farmer, digesting the difficulty of their conversation.

 

The pair passed the grave as they made their way to the satellite station, a small makeshift cross adorning the dirt mound.

 

***

“It don’t look like much.” Hancock was eyeballing the satellite, crouched behind the rocky outcropping. Metallic scaffolding wound its way to the dish, an outbuilding at the top. There was a ramshackle hut near the actual building, which acted as an underground bunker. “Too quiet out here.”

 

Nora’s gunmetal eyes scanned the complex. “They must be holed up underground.” She crept up the steep edge of the hill, watching for signs of life. The sound of earth moving aside was in her ear, the molerat charging towards her. “Fuck!” The rifle was at her shoulder, and the animal’s grotesque had exploded, the carcass falling after several more steps. More earthmoving sounds echoed across the landscape, and both pairs of eyes were following, aiming, and pulling triggers.

 

“Nasty little fuckers.” Hancock was making a face, a boot kicking at the rubbery corpse.

Nora had taken the lead, making her way into the open floor of the satellite building. She was heading for the doors to the sub basement area.

 

“They’re going to pay for attacking those settlers.” Her features were set, brows furrowed.

 

“If someone needs helpin’ we help em. If someone needs hurtin’, we hurt em’.” He gripped the shotgun tightly, giving her the nod to move forward.

 

They kept their steps light going down the stairs. She pointed silently to the chains of cans hanging in the doorway, her thin form sliding through them. The spotlight glared at them, their bodies reduced to silhouettes. He couldn’t help but stare at the shape of her body, the grip on his shotgun tight. The Ghoul shook the thoughts from his head, creeping forward. “Damn light is blinding me.”

 

The flat tones of conversation were coming from the space ahead, and the pair ducked behind the metal storage boxes.

 

“Cover me.” Hancock stalked forward, his lithe body sidling up behind the raider. Nora had the head of the other in her sights, and squeezed the trigger before the Ghoul was discovered. The thunderclap of the shotgun bounced off of the walls, and she loped towards him, hearing the alarmed voices originating in all directions. “So much for surprise.” He was grinning like a jackal, and sprinted forward into the fray.

 

***

 

Nora’s eyes were sharp, searching every surface for the faintest glimmer of silver. _Where could it be_? She was a woman obsessed, checking every corpses pocket, every drawer, every shelf. Her eyes fell on the rusted red of the toolbox, and she knew. “It’s gotta be in there.” The vault dweller crossed the space, heaving the chest onto the dirty surface of the desk. She flipped open the latch, folding the lid backwards. “I found it!” her voice reached Hancock’s ears in the next room.

 

“About damn time! I though we’d never find that thing.” He swaggered in, watching her admire the locket, gingerly coiling the chain into her hand and sliding it into a pocket. She took so much care with the useless little object. The kindness brought out the beauty in her face, and for a moment he imagined what she’d been before the war. He frowned at himself, suddenly feeling suffocated in the dark underground.

 

“What’s say we move this party upstairs” The Ghoul’s voice had dragged her from the quiet memory, and she nodded silently, adjusting the pack on her back.

The sun was blazing overhead, the light hurting her eyes. Her hand went to her pocket every once in a while, checking to make sure the parcel was still intact. Hancock kept himself a few paces behind her, leaving her to her thoughts. The 111 of her vault suit burned itself into his eyes, and he looked away, rubbing his sockets with his palms. His hand automatically went to his pocket, digging for the aluminum tin. He dropped a few of the chalky red pills onto his tongue letting them slide underneath. It didn’t take long for the effects to kick in. Everything came into clearer focus around him. Colors were brighter. For a moment he could swear there had been a halo around the vault dweller’s head.

 

It hadn’t been much of a hike to get back to the sprawling family farm, and Blake Abernathy headed out of the tower-turned-farmhouse to greet the aces. There was a weary happiness etched into Nora’s features, the look of a job well done.

 

“We took care of those raiders for you.” She took Blake’s proffered hand, and he clapped the other over top, gratitude spilling forth.  “There’s something else.” The vault dweller worked her hand free gingerly, reaching into her pocket and drawing forth the silver of the locket.

 

The man’s eyes were tearing, and he wiped the moisture away wordlessly, cradling the delicate piece in a meaty hand. “Whatever the Minutemen need, you can count on us.” He met her eyes, and Hancock noted the glassy texture in the stormy lenses.

 

Abernathy continued, trying to lighten the mood. “And Connie’s sure to go leaner on her prices once she hears what you done.”

 

“The Minutemen are grateful for your support, Mr. Abernathy.” She held out a hand, and he took it, gathering her into a hug. The Ghoul found himself chuckling at the alarmed look on her face. She wasn’t overly touchy with people, he’d observed, and generally stayed away from these kinds of situations.

 

Blake released her, a hand on her shoulder. His body turned at the calls from his wife. “General.” He saluted awkwardly, tears leaving shiny tracks down his weathered face as he started towards the field of tatos.

 

Nora saluted at his back, her body twisting around. Hancock’s eyes were on her, and she couldn’t discern the look on his face. The worn wooden planks of the cross caught in the corners of her vision, and she found herself moving towards the humble grave. There was a storm brewing behind her eyes, and she looked around, spotting the hubflower bush. Fingers deftly maneuvered, extracting the purple blossom from the plant. Her steps were quiet, and she knelt down, placing the violet bloom gently next to the cross. _She was only twenty-one years old_.

And for the second time, the Ghoul felt something move in him as he watched silent tears roll down the widow’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww. I like that one. It's like Hancock is the grinch or something... "And his heart grew three sizes that day"
> 
> Already in the middle of Chapter 19, so look out.
> 
> Up next: Brotherhood? Dreams? Minutely smutty? Maybe.


	19. Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where the Brotherhood appears.

**Chapter 19: Loss**

 

Flashes of milky white. Tangled legs. Teeth at his neck. The smell of soap filling the remains of his nose. Her mouth on his mouth- she tasted sweet. Groans escaped his throat.

 

Hancock’s eyes drifted open, the world around him slowing to a dull roar. Waves of desire rolled over him and his breath came in heavy rasps. The dream had begun to slip away into the darkness, but the feelings lingered. It wasn’t the first time he’d regretted his recreational use of Jet, and probably wouldn’t be the last. He felt his eyes moving over her form, unable to pull them away. There was guilt, but her skin glowed in the low light, seeming to call out for him to touch it.

 

He was pulling the cigarettes from an oversized pocket, has hands shaky. The night air was cool, the moon having disappeared behind a wisp of clouds. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth letting the cigarette between his fingers burn _. You never could resist a redhead, huh?_ His brother’s voice chided him, the memory an old one. There was a troubled frown plastered across his face, and he finally brought the burning paper to his mouth, inhaling deeply and exhaling through his nose. The smoke burned the back of his throat and he embraced the discomfort, using it to anchor his thoughts. John was relieved to be away from her.

 

The Ghoul could tell the chems were wearing off as the sounds of the night filtered into his ears. The cigarette was nothing but ashes, and he flung it from his body, sticking his hands in his coat pockets. He knew sleep wouldn’t find him again that night, deciding instead to walk the perimeter. The faint glow of the rocket cast odd shadows on the asphalt, and the small voice was in his head again. _Your kind of trouble._

 

***

Nora had been eyeballing her companion for most of the day so far. He had been either short or silent and she was trying to figure out what was wrong.

 

“Look, wouldja quit pawing at me? I’m fine.” The Mentats tin was open on his palm as they approached the remains of the ancient aircraft. The vault dweller ignored the snark, not in the mood for his attitude.  The Ghoul wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to go along in the first place. _Just here to be the pack mule_. He knew deep down that it wasn’t true, but focused instead on the pleasant prickling sensation in his limbs. There was a breeze blowing through the gully of the crash site, and the scent of clean drifted through his nostrils, a shiver running down his spine.

 

The awkwardness was making him angry. _I’m John Fucking Hancock, not some moony god damned teenager._ He spat, shotgun at the ready. He had already begun the fruitless quest to explain it all away. _Being in battle day after day will do that to ya. Adrenaline and all that._ Nora had moved a good distance from him while the Ghoul conversed with himself. Coal eyes followed her figure, watching her climb the rocks to make her way to the top deck of the crash debris. Stretching movements had untucked parts of the flannel from her pants and he stared at the exposed skin underneath. Hancock shook his head at himself. _I blame the Mentats_. And he was moving on.

 

Nora found the angled flooring difficult to navigate. Her feet kept tripping her up while she climbed over the mess of baggage and human remains. Her face twisted at the sight of them, her mind drifting to the circumstances that brought the plane crashing to earth.

 

“Wonder how they got something this size into the air.” She jumped at the sound of his voice, losing her balance. A strong pair of arms caught her around the middle, righting her.

 

“Fallin’ for me, huh?” Hancock was smirking his peacock smirk at her, his ruined nose close to her hair.

 

The sole survivor pried his hands from around her waist, craning her neck towards the open end of the wreckage. “Not the snugglin’ type, are we?”

 

She shushed him, slapping at his arm without turning around. “I hear something.”

 

A giant engine roared overhead, echoing across the landscape and reverberating inside the plane. A shadow blocked the sunlight as the leviathan dragged itself through the airspace. A recorded messaged bounced around the narrow confines of the valley.

 

“People of the Commonwealth. Do not interfere. Our Intentions are peaceful. We are the Brotherhood of Steel.”

 

Nora crept to the edge of their hiding spot, shielding her eyes with a hand. “What in fresh hell…” her voice was in his ear as he came to a crouch next to her.

 

“The fuck is that thing?” Hancock’s face was twisted as the pair watched several Vertibirds hover and descend from the metallic docks of the dirigible.

 

“Who is the Brotherhood of Steel?” Nora’s eyes were saucers staring into the distance.

 

“Bunch’a meathead bigots according to the caravans outta the Capital Wastes. They hunt down and hoard tech of all kinds, wear power armor. That kinda shit.” He didn’t like the curious look on her face. “Brotherhood in the Commonwealth? Not a good thing, Sister.”

 

“What about the message? Their peaceful intentions?” She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the magnificent airship. _What if they know something more about the Institute?_

 

“Trust me, the Brotherhood’s scum.” His voice was harsh. “Now are we gonna loot this place or what?”

 

Nora frowned, but moved away from the edge to return to her digging. _Power armor. Technology_. The words bounced around her mind, and she chewed at her lip lost in thought.

 

***

There hadn’t been a lot of useful salvage in the aircraft wreckage, but Nora hadn’t been surprised. Something that obviously out of place had been scavenged many times over. She had managed to find some clothing still folded neatly in the ancient suitcases, running wistful fingers over the soft folds of fabric. _At least the settlers can use them_.

 

“Hey, what’s that?” Hancock was pointing at the sky, a lit cigarette between his lips. “Looks like a-”

 

“Minuteman flare.” She finished his sentence, a deep feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. “Somebody must need help.” The zipper ripped around the edges of the pack, and she was slinging it onto her back, heading for higher ground. “Looks like it’s coming from Greentop.”

 

There was fear in her eyes. Hancock was running to catch up, the pack bucking against his slender back. He held the shotgun with two hands, jumping over logs and debris along the way. Both pairs of footfalls were sure and light as they bounded like gazelles through the dead grass.

 

 

A dark plume of smoke was rising steadily into the air. The smell reached their noses in tandem, and she felt the urgency. _There’s only been one flare so far- maybe they’ve already gotten help_. Something in her gut told her she knew better. Nora knew only one thing at that moment: they just had to get there. They were flying past the burned out buildings, streaking across the torn up arteries of the road.

 

The sole survivor was running in slow motion. The flames licked up and over broken glass panels, the smell of burnt flesh in the back of her throat. Each footfall was like lead, but she had to reach them. _I have to save them_. Her lungs were burning, her sides aching but she continued, eyes darting everywhere at once. There were bodies littering the ground. There were no sounds but the crackling of the flames biting at the age-stained pylons of the greenhouse. The realization was like a punch to the gut and the vault dweller’s form crumpled to the ground.

 

 _We promised to protect them_. _We promised them the Minutemen would be there._ She dropped to her knees, her features unreadable. The hope had been sucked from her chest, and she grabbed at the earth on either side of her, clawing up handfuls and letting the sand slide through her fingers. _We failed._ _I failed._ Something inside of her had broken.

 

Hancock was behind her, roaming the perimeter of the broken greenhouse. “Raiders.” His voice was a growl, his eyes angry black slits.

 

There was movement inside the hull of the ruined house, and she rose, the pack sliding easily from her shoulders. Her hands gripped the rifle, and she walked, trancelike to the blue of the building. Her footfalls were heavy, precise as she advanced through the doorway. Several of the raiders were holed up inside, all of them rushing her at once. She raised the burgundy object to her face, sucking the Jet down with fervor. Time slowed, the limbs of her attackers seeming to float through the air. She wasn’t just going to kill them, _she was going to make them pay._

 

Her voice was howling in slow motion as she squeezed the trigger point blank into the closest fiend’s face, watching the tissue and bone explode and spray like grotesque fireworks. She felt a stinging sensation as another made contact with her arm, the blade of the combat knife reflecting the low light of the still-burning cook fire. Nora swung the rifle like a bat, cracking the masked figure across the face and watching their body spin and bounce to the floor. Once, Twice. She dragged the heel of her boot into the air, stomping down with all of her might. The jaw cracked in a sickening, satisfying way, the barrel of the rifle warm against the raider’s forehead. She didn’t care for the wet pleas drifting up from the floor, the .45 eating a smoldering hole through the masked head. The last was trying to play it safe, _trying to run away_ … The sole survivor brought the gun to her shoulder, taking aim. The bullet ripped through the man’s spinal cord sending his limp body pitching forward. She was panting like a ragged dog, making her way back towards the doorway. A shock of lightning tore through the grey sky, a thunderclap rolling over the hills.

 

A bloody hand gripped the rotting trim and she pulled her shaking body forward, moving like a zombie. The vault dweller was minutely aware of the buckling in her knees and the blood making its way down her arm. The smell of rain hitting the bleeding earth. The blood and gore staining her fair features. She trudged forward, unable to hear the alarmed sounds of the Ghoul’s voice calling her name. The rain poured from the sky, quenching the flames in the greenhouse. Red water cascaded down her face, each drop clearing a path to the ashen foundation below. She wasn’t sure when her knees had hit the ground, but the dull throbbing came through the haze. Red coattails waved behind the lithe figure running at her, but steel grey eyes stared straight through him.  The raindrops tumbled to the ground, bouncing off of individual grass blades and grit. He was nearly upon her now, black boots kicking up divots in the dirt. He seemed to glide over the landscape.

His unintelligible voice was in her ears, a dull clamor. His hands glided to her shoulders and the world was oscillating. They slid to the red of her arm and he was tugging at the remains of the sleeve, the fabric giving way. Dull aching where his hands were working. Another streak of light across the sky. It remained, burned into hollow eyes.

 

John Hancock’s face swam before her eyes, and his hands were gripping at the sides of her face, his mouth moving.

 

 _John?_ The sole survivor couldn’t tell if she was speaking or thinking the name. _We failed, John. It’s all my fault, John. I failed those people, John. I failed my husband and my son, John.  I can’t do this anymore, John._ The hands against her cheeks were warm against the numbing drops of water falling from the sky. His eyes were bright. She reached a hand to his face, running the backs of her fingers over the ruined skin. _John, what happened to you?_

 

Nora felt the pressure of his hands under her arms, dragging her from the ground. Sounds unraveled, filling her ears slowly, then all at once. The pain in her arm was substantial again. Her body felt frozen, water running down her forehead, over the bridge of her nose, and down her face. Her teeth were chattering uncontrollably, her knees reverberating underneath her.

 

“Nora?” Hancock had sensed the change in her eyes. He brought a hand to her cheek, cupping it. “You in there, Sister?” his voice was gentile. His eyes widened as he felt her hand cover his, leaning into his grasp. His arm was snaked awkwardly around her waist, keeping her from falling over. Their faces were impossibly close together. _Too close. She’s too raw. I can’t-_

 

Her lips were unimaginably soft against his face. It was like a fever dream come to life. Time slowed down, the individual drops bouncing off of their shoulders. Her arms had clasped around his neck, and her body was pressed to him, the soaked fabric of the flannel sticking to her. They were backing towards the open air of the shack, limbs tangled and shaking. His hand pulled at the leather hat, tossing it aside and running fingers through the red of her hair. Their mouths clashed, tongues lacing and unlacing savagely. His hands went to the front of the sopping fabric of her shirt and he was tugging it over her head and dropping it in a wet pile. The strap of her bra had slid from her shoulder, revealing a large, crescent shaped scar. His mouth went to the pink of the tender flesh, and he was kissing his way back up her neck to find her mouth again.

 

Nora’s hands moved deftly to the lapels of the coat and it dropped heavily to the ground. The waistcoat was next, her mouth busied with his while nimble fingers tackled each of the fabric-covered buttons. The shock of blue landed on red, the translucent linen sticking to the striations of his torso. He pulled the ancient shirt over his head, drawing her to him. The shock of his body heat against the front of her was pleasant. He slowed the kisses, trailing down her jaw, down her neck, over collar bones, down her sternum, paving a trail to the leather waistband of her pants. Wrinkled fingers worked at the button, the zipper sliding down. The Ghoul was tugging them over her hips and backside, trailing kisses to the band of her underwear. Her hands were at his shoulders as she stepped her feet out of the legs.

 

Her hands were at the belt buckle at his waist, unfastening it without moving her eyes from his face. He was kicking them off, and dragging her to one of the filthy matresses. A hand worked the crotch of her underwear to the side, sliding fingers inside her. She writhed in pleasure, her mouth and teeth at his neck. They were making instinctive, animalistic noises and he groaned, unable to keep himself from being inside her. Her positioned his body, moving like a cat, the sole survivor’s hand directing him. He plunged himself inside, burying his face in her neck. They fought to find a rhythm, and her hands were at his back, pushing his body towards her.

 

Their breathing increased, until both were panting. Hancock pulled himself to his knees, hands at her hips. He slid them to her breasts, leaning over to bite at them. She was moaning with pleasure, hips bucking. His fingers slid down, finding the magic button and rolling a practiced thumb around. He grinned wickedly watching her back arch as her body spasmed, her arms drawing him close to her again. He groaned, the motion coming slowly to a close, his breath heavy in her ear.

 

John rolled to the side of the widow, gathering her into his arms and they lay together without a word, the sound of the rain outside lulling Nora into an exhausted sleep. He watched her, feeling the rise and fall of her chest under his arms. The small voice returned. _What have you done, John?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho-ly shit. Right? Time to change the tags *grumble grumble*


	20. Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where the aftermath.

**Chapter 20: Guilt**

It was the mottled light in her eyes that woke her. Her head throbbed, and she struggled to remember the events of the past day, Hancock’s face rolling into focus next to her. She felt the warmth of his arm draped over her naked front, a panic rising in her chest. The gold band on her finger glinted in the early morning sun, and she felt a wave of guilt slam into her chest. _Nate_.

 

Flashes of their passionate romp replayed in her mind, heat rising to her cheeks. _Did I? Did we really?_ She moved his arm gently, praying he would stay asleep. The morning air was chill as she stood, shivering. Her eyes found the soggy pile of clothes and she made a face.

 

The widow padded, nearly silent into the house, trying to look away from the carnage. _You are responsible for that, you shouldn’t look away._ The voice sounded remarkably like Kellogg’s. She picked her way over to a dresser, finding a stained white t-shirt and jeans that were a size or so too large. She breathed in deeply, slipping them on, the waistband sliding to her hipbones.

 

She towered over him, watching the even rise and fall of his scarred chest. Her grimy hand gripped the top of the Minuteman hat, pressing it over the top of her head. The gun belt was slung around her hips, the leather pants rolled up to be packed into the rucksack. Nora watched him for a long while, a storm raging inside her. Thoughts of Nate drifted through her subconscious. She found herself reliving little moments on the road with Hancock. Indiscernible glances. His hand on her cheek. The frantic way they had clawed at each other, passions run wild. She touched a hand to her cheek, remembering the texture of his skin.

 

Guilt gripped at her insides, her eyes watering. She’d imagined the look on Nate’s face, and scrunched her eyes shut, trying to will it away. _You’re supposed to be looking for your son, and you’re too busy playing hero and fucking this Colonial freak._ The voice in her head was Nate’s, and it left an emptiness in her chest. Nora pulled her eyes from Hancock’s sleeping form, and she turned, her eyes finding the bodies of the settlers.

 

 _It’s all too much. I failed them all._ She sank to her knees, silent sobs wracking her shoulders. The ground left patches of dirt at her knees, and she rose after a time, wiping furiously at her face. Her attention was on the green of the rucksack, _right where I dropped it_. She bent to pick it up, shooting a backward glance at her sleeping companion. _How am I supposed to face him?_ Kellogg’s voice answered. _You don’t, girl. You get the hell outta dodge._

 

***

The sole survivor was once again on her own, traversing the ugliness of the waste. She had left dry clothes next to a sleeping John, who smiled in his sleep. The guilt knot twisted tighter at leaving him behind. _You’re cruel._ She had debated leaving a note... _He’d just follow you_. She sighed, the throbbing of her arm reminding her of the carnage she had left in her wake. The savagery scared her only slightly less than waking up next to John Hancock, and she was already well on her way leaving him behind.

 

Barring any big detours, Nora estimated she would make it to Diamond City before nightfall. Part of her felt callous: Diamond City was the one place Hancock couldn’t follow. There were no Ghouls allowed behind the walls of the Great Green Jewel of the Commonwealth. She had set her mind to righting things with the synth detective. There could only be so many alienated parties, and she wasn’t willing to add to the growing list. Nora was almost thankful for the storm of emotions raging through her insides- it took away the fear of travelling alone. She’d had enough close calls with John to know that two was always better than one.  _He would have made an inappropriate joke at that._

 

The vault dweller stopped to take a break, pulling a Nuka Cola from the pack and guzzling it down. The caffeine woke her up, and she scanned the horizon, looking for trouble. _Maybe luck will be on my side this time_. Kellogg’s voice snarked back. _You don’t need luck, killer. You just need to let go’a that anger_. _Let it fly. Kept me alive, didn’t it?_ She rubbed at her temples, silently willing the voice to go away. The sun was high in the sky as she adjusted her hat, getting back on the road. Fingers fiddled with the dial of the Pip-Boy, tuning in to Diamond City Radio. The DJ’s stuttering voice introduced the next hit, and she sighed, the weight of the world on her shoulders.

 

***

John Hancock awoke to the heat of the day, his naked form sprawled across a filthy mattress. It was the deepest sleep he’d experienced since becoming a Ghoul. The gears turned slowly in his mind, pulling the rest of his conscious forward. _What have you done, John?_ The small voice was in his ear, his eyes wide.

 

“Nora?” his voice was hoarse, his throat dry. He sat up, dark eyes scanning the ramshackle walls of the shelter. They fell first on his saturated colonial duds, then to the clean pile of laundry she had left for him with a can of water. _Gone._

 

“Ah, Christ!” he slammed a fist into the concrete slab. The memories of the previous night were on repeat, and Hancock was rubbing his eyes, willing them away. Partially because it hurt him to think about the sole survivor, partially because he felt the heat moving down his body at the thought of her. _You took advantage of a grieving widow you dirty bastard._ But he couldn’t get the softness of her out of his mind.

 

The vault dweller had left muddy boot prints. He was sitting up, a hand at his chin observing the pattern they made. It looked like she had paced a lot. Coal eyes lingered on the nearly perfect pair of prints next to the mattress. _What was she doing?_ He breathed a sigh, a hand grasping for the worn brown leather of the tricorn. The clothes she’d left him were in relatively good shape. He pulled the slacks on quickly, hands fastening and zipping them around his waist. The shirt had to be unbuttoned, and he cursed himself for picturing her in it instead as pruned fingers fumbled at the buttons. _Old habits…_ And he found himself asking _Is she a habit that bears repeating_?

 

He shoved the shirttails into the black waistband, dragging the suspenders over his shoulders. The Ghoul moved to the sodden pockets of the frock coat fumbling for cigarettes, frowning at the waterlogged package. There was a clear image of her face in his mind, the stream of water bypassing the upturned brim of her hat and cascading down her face. The dead look in her eyes that had come back to life at his hands on her face. They were pleading for him to take the pain away. So he had done it the only way he’d known how. And now Nora was gone.

 

 _“I failed my husband and my son, John. I can’t do this anymore, John.”_ Her hand had been at his face, a sadness in her eyes. “ _What happened to you, John?”_ as her fingers traced the mangled skin of his face. He hated that he liked the sound of his name in her mouth.

 

***

 

The hand-painted signs were a welcome sight. The shops of the Diamond City were bustling at this time, citizens milling around, busy eating and drinking. The stars were winking into the sky, and she shivered involuntarily, hugging her shoulders. _John._ She swallowed the ache in her throat, pushing thoughts of the charismatic freak down deep. _I have to bury you_.

 

A knot of anxiety wove its way through her insides with each step closer to the Valentine Detective Agency. _Nick. Are you holding a grudge?_ She shook her head, dismissing the notion. That wasn’t the Nick she knew.

 

Nora bathed in the neon magenta glow of the sign, the heart burned into the back of her eyes. She screwed up her face, and walked to the end of the dingy hallway, her hand on the doorknob. The door swung open easily, and she was face to face with the synth detective.

 

***

 

John didn’t know how long he’d been at it, but he knew it had taken him hours to dig the rough rectangles from the muddy ground. The tricorn was perched on the remains of a chair, and he mopped the sweat from his brow bone with the back of a dirt-clod hand. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to bury the fallen settlers, but here he was. _She would have wanted it_. The back of Nora’s figure was to him, and he was transported back to the grave of Mary Abernathy.

 

The worst part was dragging the bloodied bodies, their dead weight and rubbery limbs tripping him up. He gazed upon each of the faces, committing them to memory. _I won’t forget what happened here._

 

The shovel met the heaping pile of earth, the rusted metal floating over the grave. “Ashes to ashes an’ all that.” The dirt fell in an abstract pattern, covering the heart of the fallen settler. He leaned on the worn handle, a sigh escaping his mouth.

 

“Diggin’ graves is ugly work.” He rasped to no one in particular as darkness fell across the silent hills.

 

***

 

Glowing golden eyes met her pale and grimy face, taken aback. “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, kiddo.” Her eyes were watering and she practically tackled him, arms wrangled around his neck. Nick’s face warmed, and he held her close, patting her shuddering back.

 

A mangled “I’m sorry!” slipped out among the wet sobs catching in her throat. The synthetic man walked her to the worn out couch, letting her curl into a ball, her head on his shoulder. A metallic hand gripped her shoulder, and he said nothing, letting her cry it out. Mechanical eyes took in the sight of her, his detective mind observing the small details. There was blood under her nails, a fine layer of dirt covering her body. _Travelling._ A strip of plaid cloth had been haphazardly tied around her arm, a brown spot of dried blood tainting it. _She’s been in a fight. A day ago, maybe more..._ His gaze wandered to her neck, making a note of the organic-shaped bruises and something that resembled teeth marks. The synth might have blushed if he’d had the capability, putting two and two together. _But who?_ He decided to leave that bit alone.

 

The pair sat a long time, Nora catching her breath, the last few tears leaking from the side of her eye. “Nick?” her voice was quiet but no longer quivering.

 

The sound of her voice was a shock in the quiet. “Yeah?”

 

“Where’s Dogmeat?” she sniffed, trying to keep the snot from running down her face.

 

“Ellie took him out for a walk. Thick as thieves the both of ‘em.” He shifted, pulling a worn pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He proffered them to her, but she shook her head, holding up a hand to refuse. With a small shrug he shook one from the pack, holding it between his manufactured lips. Nora sat up, turning to face him as he brought the match to the end of the paper. “Hate to pry, but you gonna fill me in?” His tone was light.

 

_I’m a General of a ragtag band of settlers that can’t seem to stop dying on my watch? I have to take a dip in the Glowing Sea? I slept the Mayor of Goodneighbor? My son is still gone? Kellogg answers when I am talking to myself? You know, the usual…_

She breathed in and out slowly trying to find the words. “A lot has happened since I-” she paused, feeling ashamed. “Since I sent you away.” He was watching her intently, his eyes bright. “I’ve been helping the Minutemen rebuild starting with Sanctuary.”

 

“I thought the Minutemen were all but gone from the Commonwealth.” He had a hand to his chin, the cigarette between his fingers. “There may yet be hope for this place.”

 

Her face twisted as if he’d physically hit her. “What’s wrong? Something happen?”

 

She pushed the well of grief down, nodding slowly. “There was an attack. Yesterday. I saw the flare and we ran as fast as we could but we were too late and-” a mechanical hand rested on her shoulder.

 

“We don’t have to talk about this now. Not if you’re not ready,” understanding seemed to pour from him, and Nora couldn’t be anything but grateful in the moment.

 

“Thank you.” She inhaled a shaky breath, starting again. “Greentop nursery. It was a massacre.” She sat still, her chin perched on her arms atop one knee, the other folded under her body. Her voice was soft and grave as she recalled the details, dropping to a frightened whisper when she got to the savagery inflicted on the last of the raiders at her hands. Steel eyes inspected her fingernails, feeling sick at the blood that lined them.

 

“I wanted those barbarians to pay. I was _happy_ to make them pay. Part of me _enjoyed_ it.” She met his glowing gaze, thunderclouds playing behind her eyes. “This world is changing me, Nick. And I don’t think it’s for the better.”

 

Her hand went for the silver around her neck, grasping at nothing, the pit of her stomach falling.

 

***

John exhaled lungs full of smoke into the darkness of the sky, his slender form curled up in the doorway of the now ownerless house. He’d cleaned himself up the best he could using the old-fashioned pump. The water fell down his body, icy claws digging in. He was cursing the cold, working the grime from his body in firm circles. The smell of death seemed to linger on him no matter how furiously he scrubbed at his ruined skin. The Ghoul had finally had enough, pulling the costume of the original John Hancock over his damp form. He topped the ensemble with the worn leather of the tricorn, pulling it low over his brow.

 

“What now, John?” There was no answer in the darkness as he fingered the silver chain in his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I think I might start a New Vegas fic. I have an awesome idea for the Courier. Courier/Boone slowburn? Heck yeah.
> 
> Still working the kinks out of the Charon's Big Trip to the Commonwealth. I still haven't decided if it would feel too weird. 
> 
> Next Up: The continued adventures of Nick and Nora in the Big Wasteland. What *are* you going to do, John?


	21. Who am I?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with the Eddie Winter.

**Chapter 21: Who Am I?**

Nick Valentine wondered if it had been selfish to drag the widow away from the search for her son as the two stalked down the ruined pavement towards the last of the defunct police stations. The synth had told himself that she needed time to screw her head back on. The actual truth of the situation was that she was the only person he’d trusted with his dilemma. The synthetic man had struggled to come to grips with the person he was.

 

“All I want is to have a life where I have something I can call my own.” His face was lost. It had taken the duo the better part of the last week to scavenge the holotapes of Eddie Winter. The South Boston Police Department was the last of the precincts in possession of a tape. A building loomed ahead of them, the sky ominous. A triangular shaped brownstone bisected the narrow street, the spotlights still functioning.

 

“Not sure if I want to take that sky as a possible omen.” The detective’s eyes were anxiously scanning ahead for danger.

 

Nora gripped the rifle in both hands, turning her face to look at him. “We’ve got this, Nick. I’m with you to the end.”

 

His features crinkled into a smile, his metallic hand at the doorknob. “I think I hear something inside. You ready, kid?”

 

The brim of her hat bobbed up and down. “Have to be, out here.”

 

The inside of the precinct was tall and narrow. Nora found herself wondering how the station would have been run with such a lack of elbowroom. Her thoughts were disrupted by the low bass of a feral hound. She trained the glowing circle on its head, squeezing the trigger. More growls took its place, Nick and Nora scanning the room and stairs trying to locate the mongrels. Three shots and they’d been put down. The metal detective sprinted up the stairs, his glowing eyes searching, frenetic. Nora followed suit, slipping into a closet-sized office and picking through the desk drawers.

 

“I found it!” she shook the holotape, listening to the plastic rattle. Nick appeared beside her, inspecting the orange casing.

 

“That’s really the last tape. I can’t believe we found ‘em!” there was a violent kind of joy on his face. “His bunker’s at Andrew Station. Let’s get going.” A metallic hand slid the tape into his breast pocket.

 

***

 

The pink and blue neon sign burned into Hancock’s retinas, the arrow pointing him to his people. _Goodneighbor_.  It glowed through the darkness making him squint. How many times had he snuck through the Commonwealth to get here? To do what he was about to do? He pushed the thoughts down, painting a cocksure grin on his face and readying his swagger.

 

A chorus of “Hey boss! Welcome back! How ya doin’?” greeted him as he stepped through the door. There were nods and waves as he headed for the Third Rail. The people of Goodneighbor seemed to be happy to have their charismatic leader return. His hand was in his pocket, fingering the inhalers of Jet. _Looks like you could use a chem break._ He thought back on an awkward occasion in which he had proffered drugs to the widow using the same line. The confusion had been stamped across her face- _she couldn’t tell if I was joking or not_. A smile dawned over his features, replaced by a frown at the sensation of silver links and burdensome hoop in his pocket.

 

Ham was greeting him. “It’s good to have you back, sir. The Third Rail has missed having our esteemed mayor as a guest.”

 

Hancock clapped his fellow Ghoul on the shoulder, the smirk plastered on his face. “And this esteemed mayor has missed his esteemed bar.” He continued towards the stairs. “Good seein’ ya, Ham.”

 

The bouncer eyed his boss warily. _What kinda trouble is he gonna stir up tonight?_

 

***

 

The two of them made their way to the station quickly, and Nora was thankful the last precinct had been the closest. She thought about their adventures the past week, concerned for her mechanical friend. He was dogged, desperate. The vault dweller had never seen that side of him. _This world is changing me, Nick. I don’t think it’s for the better._ Her words crowded her mind, and she shook her head trying to force them out.

 

“Got it! One, nine, five, three, seven, eight, four, zero, six.” He had decoded the code in an impressive amount of time. “Now, let’s go bring down Eddie Winter.”

 

They were standing outside of Andrew Station, the synth’s hand on the door.

 

“Nick?” she reached out a hand, resting it on his hand. “Don’t lose focus. I don’t want you diving in headlong to something you can’t get out of.”

 

He squeezed her hand gently. “Thanks for lookin’ out for me, kid.” The touch brought him back to happier days- children on a playground asking him all manner of questions, no fear. _They treated me like I was human, and I’ll never stop trying to repay them_. Nora had been a lot like them- accepting him for exactly who he was: Nick Valentine. _But where would we be if not for_ his _memories in_ my _head?_ His face was troubled as he pulled on the door.

 

The pair crept forward, each looking and listening. Telltale signs of Raider activity littered the defunct platform. There was movement through one of the abandoned trains. The detective’s voice was low and quiet. “Looks like we’re going to have to fight our way through to Winter’s bunker.” His face was less than pleased.

 

The sole survivor brought her rifle forward. “Let’s do this.” She breathed in a deep breath, springing from behind a pylon. There were scattered shouts of raiders echoing throughout the tunnels as Nick and Nora sprinted towards the abandoned train cars. They kept their heads down, shuffling over the uneven flooring.

 

“We can use the train for cover.” The end of the rifle was balancing on a broken window and she was looking through the ring sight. A leather-clad thug wandered into the line of fire, and _pop_! He was no more. Several bodies fell to join him until the group finally got smart to the sniping.

 

“Smart, kid.” Valentine took care to watch their horizontal axis. _No use getting ambushed in this thing._

 

She was sliding the rifle from its position when she let out an alarmed cry. There was heat at her bicep. Nick sprinted from the car, pistol aimed in front of him as she checked the wound. _Just a graze_. She clamped a hand over it, feeling the wet. _We need to get this place cleared out in one piece_. There was a knot of anxiety weaving itself through her middle. Were they running into a trap? Would Winter even be there? Alive? _He might just be the original Ghoul_. The detective had explained the experiments Eddie had put himself through to survive the apocalypse. _Who makes themselves into a Ghoul on purpose_? She winced at the thought, Hancock’s face behind her eyes. If she was honest with herself, she missed him. She crammed the thought down into the abyss. _Ghoul fucker_. Kellogg’s voice was taunting her. “Fuck you, Kellogg!” her eyes were narrow, hands covering her ears.

 

The pops of Nick’s pistol in the distance brought her back, and she stood up, knees cracking, rifle in both hands. They had a good amount of ground to cover to get to the bunker.

 

***

The lights were a haze of neon trails in his eyes, and John Hancock was feeling no pain. A cigarette dangled from his mouth, several empty inhalers littering the tabletop on which his feet currently resided. The Mentats under his tongue were dissolving slowly, and he felt the pleasant hum of sensation in his limbs, everything drifting around him like a feather on the wind. Magnolia was on the stage, the glitter of the dress mesmerizing to his drug-addled brain. He reached out a hand as if to touch, letting it fall. _You’ve been there, done that._ A smirk crept its way to the corners of his mouth. Something else- the small voice again- _That’s not what you’re looking for, John._

 

The songstress’ voice was a sultry jumble of notes and words in his ears. He couldn’t make them cohesive, but he knew the gist of the song having heard it many times before. Magnolia had told him once that all of her songs were autobiographical, and he found himself wondering if any of them were about their experience together. He wore a dopey grin, his mind bumbling backwards in time to grasp at the memory, but it wouldn’t come to him. There was only the soft, milky white tangled up with him, red on top. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to shake the visual from his mind.

 

 _She was never going to stick around. You had to know it._ And he _had_ known. Every step of the way.

 

 

***

 

They had finally reached the entrance to Eddie Winter’s bunker. Nick looked at Nora, keyed up, gun drawn and appearing ready for anything. The blood on her arm had coagulated, and she was sweating and breathing heavily. The trail of raiders lead almost all the way to the hidden door, and there had been a lot of bodies. She pulled the magazine from the gun automatically, hands moving a a pocket for a replacement.

 

“You want to do the honors?” Nick’s eyes were bright, dangerous. It gave her pause as the ammunition clicked into the gun. She turned to him, steel grey piercing right through him.

 

“Are you _sure_?” the question hung in the air for a moment.

 

The synth was determined. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

 

“Ok.” She punched the numbers into the outmoded keypad, raising her rifle as the doors slid open.

 

The sight of Eddie Winter as a Ghoul was shocking to the vault dweller. Memories of television broadcasts and his wicked smile flashed before her eyes, her brain making the comparison. The mobster had the same well-oiled shock of white at the top of his head. His frame was the same, the guayabera almost too familiar. The whole experience was surreal

 

“Who the fuck are you?” Winters’ Bostonian accent was still heavy after 200 plus years.

 

“A couple of old friends, Winter.” Her voice was mocking, her eyes narrowed at the mobster.

 

His voice was sarcastic. “Wait, don’t tell me you cracked the code?” He eyeballed the two of them, lingering on her figure. “It’s only been what, 200 years?” and then he was laughing. He grabbed the lit cigar from the ashtray, cheeks concave as he puffed in the smoke.

 

“Bad deeds have a way of catching up with you. Doesn’t matter the timetable, Winter.” Her lawyer voice was back. She wasn’t afraid of the overstuffed Mafioso.

 

He was bristling. “Get the hell outta here.” A cloud of smoke wafted to the ceiling.

 

Nick stepped forward, the dim lighting catching his mechanical features. “I’m not leaving until I get what I came for.” His pistol was in his hand at his side.

 

“Oh yeah, well what’s that?” His eyes dropped to the piece at Valentine’s side “And who are you, huh? You look kinda familiar. But...” Winter was scrutinizing the synth’s face and attire. “What are you, some kind of robot? Is that what it’s like out there now? A world full of robot-overlords?” Nora got the sense it was a real question, and it amused her in spite of the situation.

 

The detective’s voice was hard. “The name’s Valentine. _Nick_ Valentine. Remember me?”

 

“Valentine? The cop? Is that who you’re supposed to be?” He was petting at his pruned chin almost thoughtfully. “Sorry pal, but you ain’t Nick Valentine. You’re just some kind of… _machine_.” He spat the word, and the vault dweller watched Nick’s mouth twitch.

 

Valentine continued, undeterred. “You killed my fiancée, Jennifer Lands. There are some crimes even _you_ can’t get away with, Winter.” Glowing eyes stared down the crime lord, daring him to respond.

 

“ _Your_ fiancée? You mean _Valentine’s_ fiancée. Pretty girl. A shame what happened to her.” There was an insincere smile on his face as he tapped his chin. “But you, or the real Valentine- He shoulda backed off when he had the chance.” Winter wasn’t backing down from the implied threat of their presence. “Christ look at you. You’re not even _alive_.”

 

“Then I guess I’m in good company.” Nick’s arm was a blur, the shot echoing in the small room. Winter bellowed, his body knocked backwards by the shot. His corpse landed heavily on the floor, the star shaped hole in his chest welling up with blood and leaking onto the floor.

 

The detective lowered his arm slowly, staring at the man’s body for a long while.

  

***

The grin on the mayor’s face was sloppy, drugged. Everything was sparkling and his body felt weightless. It was almost like having an out of body experience. There was a familiar streak of red on top of something in front of him and he reached out a rotten hand to touch it.

 

Fahrenheit slapped his hand away, sitting across the table and nursing her drink with a scowl.

 

John blinked hard, rubbing at his eyes. “Fahrenheit?”

 

The bodyguard rolled her eyes. “For umpteenth time this evening, Boss, yes.” Her arms were folded over her chest, and she leaned back, propping her feet on the table. Ham had thought to send for her, and a part of her was relieved. The redhead didn’t know what had happened out there on the road, but the state of the Ghoul left her wondering.

 

He was chomping down Mentats like candy. She reached over the table with lightning reflexes, snatching the tin. “You’ve had enough, Hancock.” Her voice was firm.

 

If the table was any indication, he’d exhausted his on-person stash of jet. It worried her. Fury burned behind his eyes, his face murderous. “You’d better give me back my fucking drugs or I’m going to show you how the Mayor takes care of business.”

 

She was shaking her head at him, her mouth a firm line. “No.”

 

The Ghoul launched himself over the table at her, but she’d been anticipating the response and caught him like a ragdoll by the collar. “Enough.” Fahrenheit’s muscles tensed as she steeled herself for a tussle. The slight form of the mayor was struggling in her grasp, but the drugs had damn-near incapacitated him, and throwing him over a broad shoulder had been easier than normal. Hancock was roaring in her ears and she was more than tempted to knock him out.

 

The bodyguard tromped up the stairs, giving Ham a nod before heading on to the state house. Hancock could do what he pleased there. He didn’t need to carry on like a fool in front his constituents. She turned her head, red-orange hair catching the neon lights. “Shut. Up.” There was enough authority in her voice that he did, shortly before passing out.

 

“Our Mayor is literally a dead weight.” She rolled her eyes, pushing the door to Hancock’s residence open.

 

***

The breeze coming off of the water was cool on the heat of her face.

 

Nick was kneeling, his hand brushing over a spot in the destroyed pavement. “This is it.” He paused, absorbing the scene. “In this spot, 200 years ago one of Eddie’s boys put a bullet in Jenny Land’s back.”

 

Nora met his gaze, a familiar sadness in her chest. Her hand went for the silver chain, but she pulled back, futile. It was gone and she had to accept that.

 

He was staring at the distant horizon. “Now Eddie’s as dead as Jenny and Nick and I…I’m at a loss.” His voice was thick, and the widow found herself wondering if the synth had the ability to cry.

 

He got to his feet, dusting his knees an clapping his hands. “Winter was it, the only reminder left of the original Nick Valentine.” He turned back to her. “The last proof outside of some long lost Institute archive I was ever just a mechanical copy of some cop from a bygone era. I’m not sure how to feel.”

 

Her face a warm as she reached for his arm, giving it a squeeze. “Don’t you see- now you’re free.”

 

“It’s not that easy… I _was_ Nick Valentine.” He slid his arm from her touch. “Everything I ever was belonged to _Nick_.”

 

The breeze tugged at the few loose strands of hair hanging from her hat. “Nick- I,” she faltered, not knowing what to say.

 

The yellow glow of his eyes was intense. “What I finally realized after all this time was that taking down Winter, it was about justice. About doing what’s right.” His features were unreadable. “And that act of goodness, that’s _ours_. All the good we’ve done. That’s _ours_ and _ours alone_.” The image of the children the found him was in his mind, and he felt the same gratitude in his heart as he did back then. “And even if that’s the only thing in the world that I can ever claim as _mine_ , then I can die happy.” He was smiling down at her, his eyes crinkling at the sides. A mechanical hand reached out, gently grasping hers. “And none of that would have happened if not for you. I’m not sure if I can ever thank you.”

She gave his hand a squeeze, reflecting his smile. “You don’t ever have to thank me, Nick. We’re friends.” Her hair was soft under his chin, as he gathered her into his arms for a hug. Her eyes were wet. “You helped me find me find my husbands killer- my son’s kidnapper. You looked out for me in this ugly world. You helped show me that the world wasn’t ugly.” Nora squeezed him tight.

 

“Don’t squeeze too tight now, they don’t make replacement parts for this model.” There was something like tears in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap! An update!
> 
> So... I have been drawing like a fucking fiend. Please go look at my tumblr for fun pictures of my favorite Ghouls. biggreenfeet(dot)tumblr(dot)com
> 
> I appreciate all of your comments. Always makes my heart happy to see and read them. I am on vacation for 2 weeks, so i will be updating! But also drawing, so check back every so often. 
> 
> Coming Up: Hancock, wtf you doing guy? Everyone's favorite mayor takes a cold shower of TROOF. Nora has to be moving on, thinking some deep thoughts. And fine, we'll talk about the DOG again. :D :D :D


	22. Welcome Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Nora finds herself back in Goodneighbor.

Chapter 22: Welcome Back

 

It had been difficult for her to say her goodbyes to Nick and Ellie, but Nora had felt it important to let the detective have some time to really digest the death of Eddie Winter. It didn’t hurt that she was ready to spend some time on her own. Dogmeat seemed overly eager to get going.

 

“Don’t like being somebody’s pet, huh?” She scratched at the dog’s ears, eating a package of Fancy Lad’s and licking her fingers. A sigh escaped as she stared at the sky. Downtown was dangerous, but that made it a better place for scrap. The empty wrapper blew into a pile of other trash. _You shouldn’t litter._ She frowned at the logic of the past. “Everything here is litter. What’s the difference?” She was hauling herself to her feet, slinging the pack on her back when Dogmeat’s hackles went up, a low growl escaping.

 

“What is it, boy?” The rifle was at her back, grey eyes combing the landscape. “I don’t see-”

 

The mutant hound’s bellow was like a deadly bugle call, echoing down the vacant streets. The vault dweller’s eyes were wide as the beast trundled forward out of nowhere. Her hands were yanking at the rifle, but it had become tangled with the straps of the rucksack.

 

“Come on!” she was tugging furiously, the hound’s massive form nearly on her. A hand shot to her hip instead, the .44 bullets thundering into the mutated face. Dogmeat was standing his ground, letting the carcass crash to a halt in front of them.

 

Nora was breathing heavily, a hand on her heart. Angry roars sounded in the distance. Promises of death and great bodily harm penetrated her eardrums. The revolver was back at her hip. She dropped the pack from her shoulders, yanking the rifle around the front of her body. Dogmeat barked the alarm and the General was rolling out of the way as a rebar club smashed into the patch of ground she’d been standing. The mutant was armored, and very angry. The melee weapon was easily hefted towards the sky in a heavy grip, and he was ready to swing again.

 

“Prepare to die!” there was a vicious grin on his gargantuan face. In a panic, she pulled the tube from her pocket, shoving the inhaler into her mouth and sucking the jet down like oxygen. Time slowed to a crawl, her hands raising the rifle to her shoulder instinctively. The sight moved interminably slow to her eye, the glowing green aligned with the mutant’s sloping forehead. She sent the signal to her finger to squeeze and squeeze until the clip was empty. It took five shots, the club flinging backwards into the pile of debris already crowding the street. The now headless corpse fell forward, and she backed up clumsily, tripping over the loose asphalt.

 

Nora could feel her body falling through time, waiting for the pain of the impact. It was surreal, falling in slow motion, and she found her mind drifting back to Concord and jumping off of the building in the power armor. It seemed a strange thing to think about it while waiting to feel the ground catch the softness of her form.

 

The collision was rougher than she’d anticipated. Something had left an acute stinging sensation in the center of her back, the wind rushing in slow motion from her lungs. The sounds around her were a blur, her head bouncing against her hand on the concrete. The pain dug its claws into her slowly. _It’s like I can feel the nerve impulses as they move to my brain_. She struggled to stay alert, the effects of the drug beginning to make her dizzy.

 

The air around her head began to clear and the sole survivor found herself able to pick out individual sounds again. She struggled to stand and find footing, her vision doubling and creating trails in the harsh lighting of the afternoon sun. There was movement in her periphery, a slow, high pitched cadence moving towards her location. She opened her mouth, directing the dog.

“Go!” she swung an arm out, pointing away from her. “Get out of here!”

 

Her head swung the 180 degrees slowly, her body feeling like she was trying to pull it through water. The rifle’s sight was in her eye, but the flashing bomb burned trails into her retina. “C’mon…” Each footfall of the monster seemed to shake the ground around them. She guessed at the mutant’s actual position, _find the middle, Nora_ , and fired into the charging beast over and over and over. The last bullet found the explosive, immediately detonating. The force of the blast knocked her backwards, a searing pain in her leg where the heat had scorched through fabric. The drug was wearing off and she struggled to get to her feet, limping badly.

 

 _Got to get off the streets. Got to find someplace safe._ The sole survivor gritted her teeth, pulling herself forward with every ounce of strength she could muster. Dogmeat had returned to her side, and she felt the thickness of his fur between her fingers. She hazarded a glance at her leg, the sight making her feel sick. _It’s bad, kiddo._ Kellogg was in her head. _Better find someplace with a good doctor- that’s gonna scar up real nice._

 

“Get outta my head, you sick fucker.” She was becoming delirious. Dogmeat whined at her, licking her hand nervously and urging her onward. _What’s around here?_ Her heart sank, and Kellogg’s tone was malicious. _You know where to go, Ghoul fucker._

 

“Goodneighbor.” The pain was becoming more than she could handle. _Got to get to Goodneighbor. Can’t stop moving._

 

Dogmeat nipped at her hand whenever she began to slow down, and the pair picked their way through the ruined metropolis, staying low and clinging to the alleyways and buildings whenever possible. The jet had worn off, leaving her with a pounding headache. A cold sweat beaded on her exposed limbs and forehead. _Almost there._

The neon sign glowed bright even in the sunlight, casting a faint pink and blue hue on the wall. _You know, you could turn back now and just bite the dust out there on the streets_. Kellogg was laughing in her head as she pushed the door open.

 

“Fuck you.” Her voice was venomous.

 

“Hey, you came back to _my_ town, sister.” The Mayor’s face was swimming before her eyes.

 

“ _Hancock_?” was all she could manage before passing out in the filthy square.

 

***

 

Her brain was trapped in a fog. Strange images passed like specters, materializing and dematerializing. Old memories. Glimmers of past experiences. Nate’s giant arms gathering her to him. The smell of his chest, and the way the dark hairs dotting it were always unimaginably soft. The texture changed, hardening and becoming scar tissue. Brown eyes had turned to coal, meeting steel. He was whispering words, but she couldn’t understand. With _him_ she didn’t need to. _John_. Her lips were mouthing his name, but no sound would come out. _I’m sorry. I just can’t-_ He held a finger to her mouth, taking a step back and swirling into a fine mist carried away on a phantom breeze. Nate was standing in front of her, arms crossed, an expectant look on his face. _Nate I can explain. Please let me explain!_ It was too late as she moved towards him, her arms grasping at smoke.

 

The widow was tossing fitfully while she slept, groaning and speaking half-words. Hancock watched from the doorway, eyeing the gauze around her leg. _What the hell did you get yourself into, Sister?_

Dogmeat was curled beside the bed, keeping watch. The Ghoul had never seen the mutt before, but it had refused to leave her side and he’d assumed it was the Dogmeat she’d told him about on occasion. Even Mama Murphy had talked about the damn dog. “Why’d you let her get herself into trouble like that, huh?” His voice was annoyed. The dog stared at him with a soft woof. _She’s the one that gets herself into the trouble, guy_. Hancock was mildly amused at voicing the dog.

 

The Mayor’s eyes drifted from the dog back to the woman. His eyes roamed her body, resting on the deep purple in the center of her back. He sighed, holding his forehead and trying to push other thoughts out. He’d felt guilty seeing her. _You left her alone_. _Went into hiding. You should’ve been there_. He swallowed hard, anger welling up in his chest. _She left me. It was painfully obvious she wanted this_. He gestured at her, shaking his head. _And now I’m conversatin’ with myself._ He watched her turn again, the flesh of her torso like cream rising to the top of the Brahmin milk. Coal eyes squeezed shut, and he turned to leave the room.

 

Dogmeat yipped at him, wagging his tail. “What?” the Ghoul made a face at the dog. “You hungry or something?” More tail wagging. John eyed him warily, a hand rubbing the back of his pruned neck. “Mutt.” The insult did little to change the dogs temperament.

 

Hancock reached inside the red frock coat, pulling a purple syringe out. “I suppose it’s about time for the next dose.” He pulled the plastic cap off with his teeth, spitting it onto the floor of the bedroom and crossing to the bed. Weathered fingers flicked at the veins in the crook of her arm, then the tube. He slid the needle into the vein, depressing the plunger with the ease of an addict. “Bet you’re feelin’ no pain now, Sister.” He patted her arm gently, holding pressure on the injection site.

 

“Maybe I should have been the doctor every parent wants.” He chuckled to himself.

 

“John?” her voice was in his ear, making him jump. He jerked his head towards her, but her eyes were closed.

 

“Talking in your sleep, huh?” He made to stand up.

 

“I can’t- we can’t,” her arm moved from his grasp and the sole survivor turned over, curling into herself and sleeping soundly.

 

 _Yeah, I know._ He stood, pulling a blanket over her. _One time thing. I get it._ He dug through his pocket for cigarettes, his hand glancing the metal chain. Fingers closed around it, tugging it out of the softness. The gold was worn, scratched. _Bet he never took it off._ The jewelry felt heavy in his hand, burdensome. John knew he should leave it for her, but he found his hand sliding back into his pocket, though he wasn’t exactly sure why.

 

***

Nora’s eyes were the color of incoming storm clouds, wandering the walls of the room. Trying to make her brain work was like slogging through mud. She felt the faint sensation of pain somewhere, but couldn’t place it. Several realizations were targeting her, working to make contact. _This place- it’s…_ A memory of his lanky figure standing by the door to the outside. _“How’s Bobbi’s little patsy?”_ his voice rasped in her mind, and she recalled his smirk. _Hancock’s room in the State House_.

 

She thought to look herself over, sitting up and starting with her leg. The bandage covered her calf to just above the knee. Morbid curiosities lead her to peel it away, revealing angry red-pink streaks. She knew they should be throbbing with pain- enough to double her over- but it had been swept into the heady cloud of the Med-X, leaving her feeling slow. Her stomach was churning at the sight of the wound, more thoughts fighting to break free of the cloud. She was getting glimpses of the fight. _Super mutants. A suicider- the bomb._ Her eyes were screwed up at the mental image. _Not very bright when you’re pumped full of chems, are ya?_ The merc’s voice rumbled from the deep recesses of her brain. “Stop it.” her voice was weak in her ears.

 

There was movement across the room as Hancock pulled himself into a sitting position on the couch. “Don’t know what I could possibly be doing to you from all the way over here, doll.” His face was a mask, dark eyes staring through her.

 

Nora shivered, hugging her arms. “John?” She corrected herself, shaking her head. “Hancock.”

 

Had she not have been doped up, she might’ve noticed the way his mouth twitched at the names. “Sister.”

 

“How long?” shaky hands were attempting to redress the bandage.

 

The Mayor hopped up, loping over like a big cat. “Couple’a days.” He was standing over her. “Mind if I sit?” She shook her head, eyes like big glazed saucers. He moved her hands away from the bandaging gently, his nimble fingers taking over.

 

“You would have been a good doctor.” Her filter had apparently floated into the Med-X cloud. “Sure hands.” There was color in her cheeks _._ “I’m sorry- that was-”

 

He spoke over her. “S’fine.”

 

Dogmeat interrupted the awkwardness of the conversation, pressing his fluffy head into her lap. “Hey boy.” Her eyes were crinkling at the corners, her hands working around his ears. John laid a hand on the dog’s flank, patting.

 

“Never left your side.” There was more behind his words, but the vault dweller’s dopey brain wasn’t perceptive. Her stomach was making gurgling noises. “You should eat.”

 

She nodded, a section of hair falling forward from her scalp. A shaky hand pulled them behind an ear. He slid from the bed, crossing to the door. “Get dressed. Time to take that leg on a test drive.” The tricorn disappeared through the door before she could answer. Her eyes focused on the clothes draped at the foot of the bed, still trying to make sense of things. It took quite a bit of effort to pull herself from the bed, her limbs like rubber. _Like being drunk_.

 

She gripped the pants, pooling them at her feet and gingerly sliding on one leg, then another. The filthy t-shirt hung over the waistband and she stood, working at tucking it in. The soiled boots had been arranged neatly, toes pointing under the wooden frame of the bed. Nora had a strange sense of déjà vu. Nate’s voice echoed through her mind, whispers of ancient conversations. _I’ll always take care of you, just like you take care of me. Fifty-fifty, right?_ She almost smiled, remembering the joke. “More like sixty-forty.” She spoke the words dolefully to herself, feeling the sadness entrenched in her chest. _Do I ever get to be happy again?_ The thought scared her.

 

A gentle knock at the door ripped her from the drug-induced remembrance. “Yeah?”

 

“Just checkin to make sure you’re decent.” The Mayor was smirking at her. “Mayoral hospitality and all that.” She was nodding dumbly, reaching for a boot.

 

“Nothing you haven’t seen before.” The words had slipped from her mouth unexpectedly.

 

His arms were crossed over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. He was smiling impishly at her, chuckling softly. The Ghoul stepped through the doorway, grabbing her hat from a table and placing it on her head.

 

There was an intimacy at the gesture, and the widow felt a strange sensation gnawing at her chest. “Hancock?”

 

“Whatcha need?” He was standing next to her, arms folded.

 

“Just,” she faltered, fussing at the hat. “Wanted to say thanks, is all.” Leaning most of her weight on her arms, she pushed herself from the bed, testing weight on her leg. It seemed solid enough, and the widow took a few steps around the room, making a turn and standing at the door. “Seems ok.”

 

The Mayor nodded. “Third rail? You look like you could use real food, not that 200 year old garbage.” It wasn’t a suggestion.

 

She was suddenly suspicious. “Why are you doing this?” there was a clarity to her eyes and she was staring him down.

 

“You know what they say, politicians always take care of their friends.” _He’s wearing that fucking smirk_.

 

“Wasn’t aware I’d made the ‘ _friends_ of the mayor’ list.” Her voice was sarcastic, biting.

 

“Somethin’ bothering you?” there was a slight edge in his voice.

 

Nora wasn’t sure how to answer the question. She felt… _angry_. Angry that she’d lost more time. Angry that she’d been cornered by Super Mutants. Angry that she’d crawled back to Goodneighbor. Angry that she was being taken care of. Angry at the smugness on his face, his easy disposition. _Aw, did that dirty Ghoul take advantage of you, girly?_ Kellogg was laughing.

 

“Why the show, Hancock? Does it make you happy that I _literally_ came crawling back here?” there was heat in her face. “What are you hoping to get out of this?”

 

It was as if she’d slapped him. “What’s with the mood swing bullshit?” his eyes were hard. “And I ain’t exactly pleased with the implication of your questions, either.”

 

“Stop dodging me. I want to know why.” Her index finger was aimed at his face. “What’s in it for you?” She poked him hard in the chest for emphasis.

 

“You’ll be wanting to keep that finger to yourself if you want to keep it, doll.” His teeth flashed dangerously in the sunlight filtering into the room.

 

“God damnit, Hancock I mean it.” Her hand moved to poke him again, but he caught her wrist, twisting it away. She yanked, but he wasn’t letting go.

 

“You really think I got a _motive_ here?” the disgust was written on his face. “You’re a real piece’a work, you know that?”

 

Nora was glaring daggers at him. “You took advantage-” The memory was playing behind her eyes. She had leaned up to kiss him. She’d just wanted to escape the world, and he was there, fighting to bring her back. He’d called her by name, his hands frantic at her face, and then…

 

“ _You_ kissed _me_ , sweetheart. And if I remember correctly, you did a lot more than that.” His voice was smug. “And you liked it.”

 

A fist was flying for the side of his face, but he’d caught it with his other hand, now in possession of both of her wrists. Kellogg’s voice whispered in her ear. _What’s the matter? Hitting too close to home with that one?_

 

Her heart was pounding. She could feel the heat of his body in front of her, a flush creeping up her chest and into her cheeks at the words. _You know he’s right. You liked it_. Her jaw was locked in place, a furious look on her face. “You smug piece of shit.”

 

“Doesn’t sound like much of a denial to me.” The grin danced on his features, and he dropped her wrists, his hands going to her hips, and pulling her towards him with force. It took her by surprise, and her arms were around his neck, their mouths mirror images. She could feel the heat of his breath on her mouth, instinctively leaning into him. Her nerves were firing, sending tingling sensations to her limbs. Their hips were grinding together, and she could feel the familiar sensation of him against her.

 

His hands slid up the sides of her shirt, and he was working his thumbs over the front of her bra, a moan escaping her lips. His teeth were at her neck, savagely sucking, nipping, biting. “John!” she yelped in surprise as he teeth moved to a nipple. The Ghoul wasn’t planning to be gentle. He was pulling her back towards the bed, the filthy t-shirt dropping to the floor, then the bra.

 

She was sitting on the edge of the bed while Hancock knelt on the floor, his mouth at her breasts, his hands unlacing the timeworn boots on her feet and tugging them off. The impact of the rubber soles against the wood flooring reverberated around the room, and he’d busied his fingers with her pants. He was kissing a trail down the front of her, hands yanking at the fabric around her hips while she arched her back.

 

He was a man possessed, the urgent need to feel her, touch her, taste her filling his head. A hand was ripping the underwear from her, dropping them to the dusty floorboards. He used both of his hands, parting her legs gruffly, the hair between them soft against his face. The hunger threatened to overwhelm him, and his tongue was inside, tasting.

 

Muffled sounds of pleasure were coming from above him, her travel worn hands grasping and gripping at the sheets. He adjusted his face, his tongue finding the spot that would have her screaming his name. His hands moved back to bare breasts, kneading, and tweaking. The black fabric of his pants was tight across the crotch, but he waited for her hips to start bucking before seeking relief. The buckle jingled metallically, and he used one hand to unfasten the rest. His groans mingled with the euphoric sounds coming from the bed, and he positioned himself, thrusting forcefully.

 

Nora’s hands tangled in the folds of the jacket, pulling his lithe form closer to her, cheeks flushed with heat. Her head was reeling, and his mouth was on hers. She had been desperate to escape reality the first time. He was desperate to rid himself of the desire that had dug itself into his guts after they were parted. A ruined hand was in her hair, the softness sliding easily through his fingers. He pulled her face towards him, kissing her like a wild animal. She was moaning through his lips, into his mouth.

 

The widow’s noises excited him. He found a rhythm, a hand snaking back down her waist. He wanted to hear more. Hancock could feel her body starting to tense, a wicked grin dawning over his features. He would show her what she was missing. His teeth found their way to her neck again, and she was convulsing, his name on her lips. It pushed him over the edge, and he gave one last thrust, groaning, and panting. He planted soft kisses on her mouth, cupping her face.

Her lids were heavy as she looked up at him. The pale of her arm was in his periphery as she pulled the hat from his head gently, tossing it to the floor. Gripping his head with both hands, she pulled his forehead to her mouth, planting a kiss.

 

He stood, letting the coat and vest slide to the floor and fastening the pants. He stepped out of his boots awkwardly, stepping on the heels and yanking his feet free. Nora was rolling herself up in the bedding, suddenly aware of the disparity in their clothing. A fresh blush swept across her face at the idea of him in his full regalia on top of her.

 

John sat on the edge of the bed, peering over his shoulder at her. Her skin was flushed in the aftermath, her hair obscuring part of her face. Nora’s expression was serene, her breathing slow and even. She met his gaze through heavily lidded eyes. Something moved the Ghoul and he leaned over, cupping her cheek and kissing her softly.

 

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” There was something new behind his eyes. “Unless I’m the one doing it.” John’s grin was wicked. “Does that answer your question?”

 

Nora nodded, a yawn escaping her mouth. His slight form slipped onto the bed, helping her adjust her head on his shoulder, and arm around her. She clutched at the fabric of his shirt, unwilling to let him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smutty smutty smut smut smut. Please tell me its at least classy smut?
> 
> Thanks everyone for being so patient. I really do appreciate it, as I have been creating up a freakin' storm! 
> 
> As a note, I like to listen to the FO4 soundtrack (instrumental score) when I write. It's really awesome and if you haven't checked it out, go do that.
> 
> Also- saw Star Wars today and OMG AMAZING.


	23. Brotherhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where they meet a tin can.

Chapter 23:

 

They hadn’t talked about it. They weren’t going to talk about it. _There is nothing to talk about_. Nora gripped the rifle in front of her, eyes drawn to the sky. A Brotherhood vertibird was circling the area, red flashes raining to the ground a long way off from them. She could feel Hancock’s eyes on her, heat snaking through her insides. Fingers touched the elliptical bruises on her neck, and she adjusted her collar nervously. Dogmeat hovered at her side, shooting a growl at the fighting behind them.

 

John had agreed to resume his duties as the vault dweller’s companion easily enough. Though they hadn’t spoken, she’d made it very clear that whatever happened in the bedroom would stay there. His guts wrenched at the memory of trying to kiss her awake. Grey eyes had gone wide, and she’d practically sprinted from him, tugging clothes over her nakedness. She had mumbled an apology, her cheeks red. “No strings, Hancock.” It was the only cohesive thing she’d had to say about any of it.

 

His face had been unreadable. “You want me to take the emotion out of the relationship?” The widow was nodding at him. “Never been the one not doing the asking. But yeah, you got it. Consider it dropped.” An unfamiliar feeling dragged at his insides as he said it.

 

He sighed inaudibly, pulling the ancient cigarettes from his pocket. “We need to put some more distance between us and them lasers, Sister.” He was gesturing, smoke curling off the end of the cigarette. Nora’s head bobbed, and she pushed forward wordlessly. He could still feel the grip of her hands at his shirt and the warmth between the two as she’d fallen asleep. Fingers went to the brim of the tricorn, pulling it over his eyes. _No strings, John._

 

The silence was becoming uncomfortable, and the sole survivor was fidgeting with the dials on the Pip-Boy. “Well that’s weird.”

 

“Hm?” Hancock glanced over his shoulder.

 

“There’s some kind of new signal on here. AF-95? What is that?” She made the selection, hearing only static.

 

“Fluke?” he shrugged, scouting ahead.

 

The woman’s voice sounded metallic coming from the Pip-Boy speaker. “Automated message repeating. This is Scribe Haylen of squad mission Gladius to anyone in range. Authorization Arks-Pharoh-9-5. Our unit has sustained casualties and we’re running low on supplies. We’re requesting support or evac from our position at Cambridge Police Station.” The message began to repeat itself, and the widow shut it off.

 

Nora’s eyes were pouring over the digitized map, comparing their present location to the that of the police station. Hancock was rolling his eyes in frustration. “That’s a _Brotherhood_ message, Sister. Let them get _their_ people to help them.”

 

She stared him down, and he saw the fire in her eyes. “It’s the right thing to do. We’re going.”

 

The Ghoul was glaring, his mouth opening to retort, but the widow cut him off. “They might be able to help me get to my _son_ , John.” Her eyes were pleading. “You said they have technology. Power armor. If we help them, they might help me.”

 

His features softened at his name. _She certainly knows how to push your buttons, damnit._ “Fine.” His arms were crossed over his chest, his face unreadable.

 

Her words were sincere. “Thank you.” She wanted to reach out, maybe cuff him on the shoulder. Instead, she contented herself with twisting her fingers into Dogmeat’s fur. Checking the wrist computer one last time, she pointed a finger to the Northwest. “It’s going to be that way. Shouldn’t take us more than a few hours out of the way.”

 

***

The bloat flies exploded, one after another, and fell to the dirt below. Nora was pulling at the stringy goop on her vault suit, making a face. The dog’s tail was wagging wildly- he thought it a game to kill the mutated insects.

 

“Well that’s attractive.” Hancock mirrored her face, thankful that the red velvet of his frock coat had remained unscathed.

 

“Thanks for that.” Her tone was sarcastic.

 

Things had been somewhat tense since she had laid down the law with him about helping the Brotherhood or “ _those assholes”_ as he had not-so-affectionately called them. John worked at his pocket, procuring a handkerchief and handing it to her. “S’not much, but it doesn’t have bug juice on it.” Nora’s hand snapped it up, and she worked the goo off of her face, spitting on the ground.

 

“I don’t think I will ever get used to these gigantic fucking bugs.” She sighed, moving to hand the cloth back to him.

 

“Keep it.” He had lit a cigarette while she’d frantically wiped at her face. He pushed her hand back towards her with a cool finger and a wink.

 

 _Cheeky_. She pulled her hand back, catching a glimpse of the delicately embroidered initials _JH_. Curiosity tugged at her, but she folded it neatly, stowing it away in a pocket instead. The Pip-Boy map was glowing, and she pointed down the ruined street. “Police station should be right up there.”

 

They were in the middle of the city, defunct cars and building surrounding them. Nora’s ears perked up, and she watched Dogmeat’s body language, a knot in her stomach. _Can’t get caught with my guard down again._ She winced at the thought, seeing the angry pink of her leg peeking out of a boot. There was an irrefutable similarity between burned skin and the Ghoul’s… The sound of laser-fire pulled her back to the moment, and she pitched forward, running towards the fortified walls, the dog and the Ghoul hot on her tail.

 

The wet, guttural groans seemed to surround them, red beams streaking past from the open gate. “Ferals,” Hancock growled, emptying his shotgun into the nearest face. Another body was listing over as their canine companion snapped at its throat. Nora held the rifle sight to her eye, carving a path to the steps leading to the station. One of the Brotherhood members wore a full suit of power armor, sans helmet. She aimed to fight her way to him for the sake of cover.

 

Once inside the compound, it was easier to strike the bottlenecked ferals. Laser beams, buck shot, and bullets did the job and the three came together on the steps, panting. Nora slung the rifle to her back, Hancock echoing the motion with his shotgun. Dogmeat sat between them, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.

 

“We appreciate the assistance civilians,” his nose curled at the sight of the Mayor. “But what’s your business here?”

 

Hancock caught the slight and stepped forward. “Pest exterminators. Heard you had a feral problem.” He waggled his eyebrows at the soldier with a smirk.

 

His eyes were dark, his voice overly serious. “Evading my questions is a surefire way of getting yourself ejected from the compound.” He eyed Nora up and down. “Are you from a local settlement?”

 

“Do all these questions really matter?” Hancock was becoming agitated with the metal man’s attitude. “After all, we helped you fight those ferals.”

 

In true military fashion, his face never wavered. “This would be much easier for all of us if you’d cooperate.” He turned to the widow, hoping for a clear answer. “Now, where are you from?”

 

Steel grey eyes met him, and he blinked at their intensity. The woman cleared her throat, and her voice was all business. “I’m from Vault 111.”

 

“You’re a Vault dweller?” His eyes were wide, dropping the facade. “Most people wouldn’t admit to such a thing. I appreciate your honesty.” He warmed slightly, at ease speaking to another human. “If I appear suspicious, its because our mission here has been difficult. Since the moment we arrived in the Commonwealth, we’ve been constantly under fire. If you want to continue pitching in, we could use an extra gun on our side.”

 

Nora’s gaze remained intense. “I want to help, but I don’t like the secrecy. Who are you really?”

 

“Very well. I’m Paladin Danse, Brotherhood of Steel. Over there,” he gave a slight nod towards the double doors of the station, “is Scribe Haylen and Knight Rhys. We’re on recon duty, but I’m down a man and our supplies are running low.”

 

“I am Nora,” She put a hand out for him to shake, “And this is Mayor Hancock of Goodneighbor.” A glovd hand gestured to the Ghoul as she presented him. There was a faint whine at her side. “And that’s Dogmeat.”

 

The Paladin took her hand, his touch surprisingly gentle in the gigantic metal armor. “Charmed.” He dropped her hand, turning to address his crew. “Scribe? Knight? We need to get everyone inside and discuss a plan of action.” Hancock was making faces behind his back, the Scribe fighting a smile. “Let’s move out.”

 

Danse’s head swung around, and he brought himself face to face with the Ghoul. “ I trust there won’t be any… _funny business_ inside the compound, _Mayor_.” His tone was mocking, and the Ghoul’s eyes were narrowed. Nora swept his arm up in her own, swishing towards the entrance.

 

“Nothing untoward, Paladin. You have my word.” The widow touched the brim of her hat in affirmation.

 

“That only happens at nighttime, trash can.” He half-whispered the quip into her ear, and watched the red move up her neck and into her cheeks as she tossed his arm aside. She shot a warning glance his way, her eyes furious before disappearing into the repurposed police station.

 

He almost felt bad. _Almost_.

 

***

John Hancock sat in the antique wooden chair, his ruddy boots resting on the top of its matching desk. He was only half-listening as the tin can spouted his plan in the center of the main room. The combat knife spun and darted gracefully through the Ghoul’s fingers, and he paused to pick dirt from under a fingernail. _This is a waste of time, and why is she letting him run on and on and on like that?_ Coal black eyes studied her face from a distance. The grey of her eyes was like an oncoming storm. She was listening to the Paladin attentively, nodding at the appropriate times, and looking between the Brotherhood team members. None of them paid Hancock much mind, and he preferred it that way.

 

“We’ll head out at daybreak tomorrow to retrieve the deep range transmitter from ArcJet Systems.” Danse was finishing up with his crew. “Dismissed.” The scribe and knight saluted, and Haylen began to treat Rhys’ wounds.

 

“Citizen- Nora.” Danse’s voice was awkward. “I see you have a Pip-Boy. Will you allow me to input the coordinates?”

 

The widow’s eyes were kind as she nodded, proffering her wrist to the metallic giant. He had moved himself into Hancock’s line of sight, blocking the vault dweller’s figure from view. The Paladin stood at least a head taller in the power armor, if not two. A chuckle escaped her, and the Ghoul felt the heat of annoyance flooding his face.

 

“Hey soldier boy,” Hancock slid the knife back into his boot. “What’re your sleeping arrangements like around here?” He was grinning at the back of Danse’s head. “Fair warning, I’m a snuggler.”

 

The Paladin chose instead to address Nora on the issue. “We have several extra beds if you need them. Make yourselves comfortable for the evening.” His voice dropped, and he was whispering something to Nora.

 

“Thank you Danse, we appreciate the kindness.” She was rummaging in her pack, drawing out a cloth-wrapped package. After inspecting it, she tossed it to the Paladin with a smile. “We’ll get situated and meet you for dinner.”

 

Hancock’s features contorted, and he sighed audibly. _We gotta eat with these bastards?_ The vault dweller was standing over him meeting his gaze.

 

“C’mon. Let’s unpack and settle in.” She was still smiling. It bothered him.

 

“It’s gonna be a long night, Sister.” Kicking his feet off of the table, and pushing himself backwards, Hancock stood, stretching. A hand was in his pocket and rooting for the scarred aluminum tin. He brought a small handful of the red pills to his mouth, practically inhaling them and well aware of Danse’s dark eyes on him. “You just say the word if you wanna take a little chem break, soldier boy.”

 

“It is unwise to rely on chemical stimulants outside the heat of battle. Don’t want to fight addiction while fighting Supermutants and abominations.” He’d taken special care to emphasize the last word, a crooked smile gracing his fair if weathered features.

 

The Ghoul’s eyes were black slits, and he started towards the power armor. Nora gripped his arm, shooting him a warning glare and shaking her head slowly. She dropped his arm, pointing to the open room to their left. “Go. Now.”

 

It was almost more than John could bear, and he twisted on his heel like a bad-tempered child, dragging his pack behind him. Nora winced at his back, feeling guilty. She’d never stayed silent in the face of bigotry directed at the Ghoul before. _So why are you doing it now?_ She sighed heavily, letting the weight of the pack sink slowly upon the mattress.

 

A nervous glance, and she was aware he wasn’t in the mood to speak to her. His lithe body was laid out on another filthy mattress and he was staring angrily at the ceiling.

 

“I’m sorry.” The words hung in the empty air, and her soul felt heavy. She shoved herself away from the mattress, heading for the main room.

 

“Danse.” Hancock could hear her voice from the next room. “I need to speak with you.”

 

“What do you need, civilian?” he sounded distracted.

 

“Can we talk,” she paused, swallowing the lump in her throat. “In private?”

 

“I suppose that would be an acceptable request. Let’s step outside.” The power armor made the walls reverberate with each step. Hancock counted how many it took for the tin can to make his way outside, his intestines twisting up in anger. _Just waiting for something better to come along, aren’t you Sister?_ His thoughts were dark and he covered his eyes with his arm, seething silently.

 

The twilight air was brisk and Nora shivered in spite of her long sleeves and armor. “I need to make something clear, Paladin.” Her voice was authoritative and level.

 

“Go on.” Danse’s arms were crossed over the massive chest of the armor, and he was staring down at the red of her hair.

 

“John Hancock is my travelling companion and a good friend. I’m not going to tolerate you berating someone I trust with my life, do you understand me?” There was color in her cheeks, and her grey eyes were sparked with electricity.

 

There was a hint of shame on the Paladin’s face, and he dropped his head. “Understood.” He raised an eye to meet the intensity of her gaze. “For what its worth, I apologize for letting it- him goad me into conduct unbefitting a soldier of the Brotherhood.”

 

“It’s not me that needs to hear it.” Without another word, the redhead disappeared through the double doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow guys. I am so sorry its taken me a while to update this. I am trying to keep things moving AND believable AND I have been dealing with depression that decided it needed to crush my soul instead of leaving me to create in peace. So... hope you enjoyed it. It is my goal to update more frequently.
> 
> Coming Up: WHAT'S GONNA HAPPEN AT THE ARCJET? I dunno...


	24. Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where they go to ArcJet Systems.

**Chapter 24: Betrayal**

 

The night had been uneventful. John had gotten high on whatever he could scrounge from his coat pockets, staring at the ceiling, stuck in his own colorful world. Nora had tried to approach him, but he’d ignored her, tuning out her apologies and “good intentions.” He didn’t know or care about the subject of her private conversation with the trashcan. Or so he told himself. _Jealousy ain’t a pretty look on you, John_. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, the high spiriting his thoughts away.

 

What had felt like minutes had been most of the night, and Hancock brushed the sleep from his eyes, willing Nora’s form to come into focus. Dogmeat lay against her belly, a wary eye on the Ghoul. A milky white arm was draped over the beast, the features of her face buried in the fur at the dog’s neck. He swung his still booted feet over the edge of the bed knocking the can of water over that she’d left there for him. _Hours ago._ A plate of cold molerat meat sat next to it, and something like sadness tugged at him. _She tried to apologize, you asshole. And what did you do? Get high as a fucking kite and knock yourself out cold._ He shook his head, rubbing at his eyes again.

 

The Ghoul sat for a long time watching her sleep. _Why do I feel like this?_

 

***

Nora was relieved to be back on the road. Their duo was now a trio, the Paladin taking point. John hung back to the rear, leaving Nora in the middle. Dogmeat had been left behind much to Rhys’ chagrin. The Knight seemed to hate anything that could make a person smile, but Scribe Haylen had shushed him, cuffing the dog’s ears. “Don’t mind him, Rhys just pretends to hate everything.” She had smiled, throwing a backwards glance at his scowling face.

 

The vault dweller fell back, stepping in time with her red-coated companion. A comfortable silence fell between them as they walked, and John smiled to himself enjoying the warmth of the sun for once. Things between them felt almost back to normal, whatever that was.

 

“Hey, you got a minute?” his voice rasped close to her ear, and she turned to look at him.

 

“Everything alright?” The light was returning to her eyes.

 

“I just-” he paused, trying to get the words out. “Back at that settlement, Greentop.” Alarm ran up his spine as he watched her face contort at the memory. “That was an awful thing that happened, but-” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. “None of that was your fault.”

 

Nora faltered, pain etched in every line of her face. “If we’d been faster-”

He was shaking his head and grasping her hands. “There’s nothing you coulda done for them, Sister. I don’t- you shouldn’t-” being tongue tied was beginning to annoy him. “Don’t let all of the good you done fall by the wayside. People out there, they need someone like you.”

 

She was staring hard at the ground, small beads of water leaving her eyes and bouncing off of the dirt. “I just left them- The bodies. They didn’t-”

 

He shushed her gently. “Every one of them got a proper burial. I can personally attest to that.”

 

“What?” She raised her head, a look of shock reflected in her features. “John you didn’t have to- All by yourself?”

 

The Ghoul gave a small nod. “It was the right thing to do. Gave me time to clear my head anyway.”

 

Nora slid her hands from his grasp. “Thank you.” She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

 

“Civilians, you’re falling behind.” Danse was standing at attention, laser rifle clutched to his enormous metal chest. He didn’t like the intimacy of their exchange, the glare behind his helmet aimed squarely at the Ghoul.

 

The sole survivor broke away, jogging to catch up. Hancock sighed, watching her go. Twisted fingers touched his cheek, and he let them linger, something between grief and happiness blooming in his chest.

 

***

The weather was ominous as they reached the outskirts of ArcJet Systems. The vault dweller noted a monument out front, some kind of plane on display. She struggled to recall anything she could from the past about the company, but drew a blank. Taking the steps two at a time, she circled the grounded craft, eyes scanning. They fell upon a metal tin of caps that she pocketed eagerly.

 

“Nothing but a caps stash over here.” She headed back to her travelling companions, the caps jingling in her pocket. “Did you check out that trailer?” She motioned the rifle towards the white and orange.

 

“Negative. I was keeping watch in case backup was required.”

 

Hancock rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “S’all yours, Sister.”

 

She poked her head into the musty shelter, digging through filing cabinets and drawers. The only things of any real value were the chems stashed in an ancient cooler, which she pocketed covertly.

 

“Nothing much to find in there. Picked clean already.” She was clapping her hands together, dusting them off with a sneeze. Her eyes shifted to Danse. “What are we looking for in there?”

 

“The deep range transmitter. It’s a box about this big,” he pantomimed the approximate size of the rectangular object. “It’s dark green to black in color, and has a bright red button to one side.” The bug-like lenses of his helmet met her gaze. “We need to be careful in there. No telling what we might run into no matter how quiet it is out here.”

 

Nora nodded, glancing at Hancock. He’d been quiet after the Greentop disclosure, staying several paces behind. Part of her was worried about him. _No strings._ Her words echoed in her mind, the associated guilt contorting in her stomach. _Nate. John. I’m sorry._

 

Danse was pushing his way through the door, and Nora followed suit, eyes alert.

 

“It was corporations like this that put the last nail in the coffin for mankind.” The soldiers head was turning, taking in every detail of the destroyed room. “They exploited technology for their own gains, pocketing the cash and ignoring the damage they’d done.”

 

Nora shook her head, ancient memories surfacing. People that couldn’t afford food and basic necessities with the Depression and shortages. It hadn’t affected Nate and her- the military had seen to that. It had felt like a pane of heavy glass separated them from the rest of the world sometimes. The only evidence of the suffering were the 60-second blurbs on the news. She’d been pushed farther from that reality when she’d transitioned from her law career to being a stay at home mom.

 

The triad had made their way into the next room, a mess of wrecked Protectrons littering the floor. “Look at these wrecks. It appears as though the facility’s automated security’s already been dealt with.” Danse was studying the bots, nodding to himself.

 

Hancock piped up, his voice taking on its traditional cocky air. “Good. Less security to worry about.”

 

The Paladin’s eyes narrowed behind the weight of the helmet. “Negative. There’s nothing good about it. Look at the evidence.” He gestured wide. “There isn’t a single spent ammunition casing or drop of blood in sight. These robots were likely assaulted by Institute synths.” He was on a tirade, adding moreso to himself, “Its unacceptable. They simply can’t be allowed to exist.”

 

The Ghoul’s skin prickled at the comment, but he let it go, watching Nora’s face.

 

“We’ll be on the lookout.” Her voice was matter-of-fact as she pressed forward.

 

They managed to pick their way through several rooms before Danse stopped, his back ramrod straight. “Shh. I heard something.” The Brotherhood soldier stepped forward, a hand out behind him indicating that his companions should stay put.

 

“Oh here we go,” Hancock’s voice dripped with disdain.

 

A metallic voice sounded down the hallway. “Movement detected? Curious.” It was all it took for the tin can to go charging forward with a cry of “For the Brotherhood!”

 

Nora exchanged a glance with the Ghoul, and they moved together through the doorway and into the hall. The large room past the corridor was teeming with synthetic life. _They look like Nick_! The vault dweller’s eyes were wide, something clicking in her brain. _They’re not like him. “I’m a prototype.”_ His voice echoed in her mind. _“Somewhere in between.”_ She stood back, sighting the bots from a distance. Two fell from across the room, alerting the others to her presence.

 

Blue lasers streaked across the expansive space, sizzling near her face against the walls.

 

“Christ, those things burn!” Hancock was alternating sucking on a finger and waving it in the air. “Sonofa-” he was loading the double barrels of the shotgun and charging forward.

 

She struggled to sight around him, sending a bullet whizzing by his ear.

 

“Aye! Watch it, Sister!.”

 

She chuckled despite the danger. _Is this what my life has come to? Laughing during a firefight?_ It was a strange realization, but the widow shrugged it off, targeting another synth and squeezing the trigger.

 

***

It had taken them the better part of an hour to clear their way to the top floor, and the three of them stared down the long and winding metal stairs to the bottom of the makeshift hanger. A large rocket booster was suspended from center of the ceiling. “There’s some kind of control room on the other side.” Nora was pointing forward, her arm resting over John’s shoulder.

 

“We need to be careful. There’s no telling what the Institute might have waiting for us down here. You two go check out the control room. I’ll keep watch.”

 

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” The Mayor had grown tired of soldier boy’s bossy directions, and trundled down the stairs.

 

“Hancock-” Nora followed suit, staying close.

 

“Terrific.” Danse rolled his eyes, his laser rifle in front of him.

 

The terminal was tucked in the very rear of the control room, Nora’s fingers tapping at the keys trying to gain admission to the power controls. “Damnit!” she tapped her chin, screwing up her eyes. John watched the ‘aha’ moment in action, and she pecked excitedly at the keys, the ancient machine wielding to her touch. “Yes!”

 

Grey eyes scanned the words quickly, and she was tapping more keys. “Ok.” She pushed herself back from the desk, stretching her arms above her head. “We’ve got power!”

 

The blue flashes cut her off, and she ran to the window, watching in horror as a hoard of synths launched an attack on the Paladin. “Danse!” The pair ran for the window. Nora scanned the console, looking for something- anything that might help. Hancock punched the Engine Start button, and ran towards the entrance. Slamming the mechanism button with his palm, the heavy leaden doors slammed shut.

 

There was a mechanized voice coming through the speakers. “Command accepted. Now commencing five second countdown.”

 

“What are you doing?! Danse is out there!” her face was frantic, further contorting with the electronic voice overhead.

 

"I said I would protect you, and I meant it!" His eyes were hard.

 

"Who's going to protect him?" she gestured angrily out the window.

 

“…3…2…1… Engine firing.”

 

She flew at the window, hammering it with her fist. “Danse! Get out of there!” It sounded like a blustering gust of wind until the fuel was ignited. The Paladin looked up, running for the farthest corner of the room as the fire streamed into the space, igniting each synth, one by one. She turned on the Ghoul, with a furiousness he’d seen only once before. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! What did you do, John!?”

 

She raised a fist, but he caught it, pulling her to his chest. She raised both fists, bringing them down like an adult temper tantrum as the rocket ceased firing.

 

“Would you just calm down?” he held her wrists tight.

 

“I have to go see if he’s still,” the words choked her. “Alive.” The vault dweller was ripping her arms from him, and smashing the button for the doors. A wave of heat crashed through the room, and she pulled the neck of the vault suit up to shield her face.

 

“You can’t go in there yet!-” He was reaching for her, but she was already gone. “Nora!” Torn, Hancock headed for the door, holding a sleeve to his face.

 

Danse’s hulking metal form was hunched over, his breathing labored. John could hear Nora talking to him.

 

“Oh my god! Are you all right?” The floor glowed with remnants of the rocket blast and the heat was biting at her exposed skin as she knelt in front of him.

 

“Got…cooked by the flames, but… thanks to my power armor I’m still in one piece.” He struggled to stand, his hands on his knees. “The important thing is that we’re still alive and have a way to get to the transmitter.”

 

 _So my gamble paid off then_. Hancock kept the thought to himself, heading for the elevator. “We need to get you outta this heat. C’mon.”

 

The power armor clunked its way to the elevator, Nora following closely. She glared daggers at John, crossing her arms over her chest. There was a _ding_ as the doors slid open again, depositing them near the top of the metal staircase. Danse seemed to be recovering, and had taken point once again.

 

“Hold up. I think we’re being stalked.” The mono of his voice came through the speaker as he crept up the last of the stairs, poking his head around the corner. More metallic voices sounded cries of alarm, a blue and red laser light show ensuing.

 

Hancock sidled up to the widow, an apologetic look on his face. “I wasn’t trying to kill the guy, you know.”

 

She shoved his shoulder, moving forward with a hiss. “We don’t have time for this!” As if in affirmation, a blue bolt whizzed past the two of them, leaving a smoking hole in the wall.

 

“Fine.” He charged forward, thundering buckshot spraying the synths.

 

The layout was too much of a labyrinth for her to try to snipe the bots, and she grudgingly moved herself into the fray. A synth jumped in her path, frayed wires sparking where its jaw had gone missing. Two pale arms raised the laser pistol, bringing it down with significant force against her head. Nora saw stars for a moment, stumbling backwards just far enough to unload the last of the clip into its chassis. Something hot danced over the armor on her arm, and she was cartwheeling backwards, trying in vain to regain her balance. Bright red flashes scorched past, taking out the nearest attacker. She landed hard on her elbow, a sharp cry escaping her lips. It was all over very suddenly, the only source of movement in the room her companions. Hancock was crouched in a corner, diagnosing the severity of the burn on his thigh, the fabric of his pants still smoking.

 

“Civilian- Mayor. You’re injured.” Danse made to kneel by him, but the Ghoul shooed him away. “Get outta here with that- go check on Sister over there. Looks like she busted a wing.”

 

The soldier turned obediently, making a note of the way she cradled her arm to her chest. “Nora. You require medical assistance.” He was gesturing at her arm.

 

She winced, meeting what she assumed were his eyes through the opaque metallic of the helmet. “Need a sling- something to hold my arm. Probably a Stimpak.” Her eyes scanned the room, resting on the red velvet frock coat. “Hancock? Is he-“

 

“The Ghoul has refused medical assistance.” She pushed past the power armor, arm pressed tightly to her upper body.

 

“Hancock.” Her voice was gentle as she reached for his leg with her good hand.

 

He growled at her, flashing his teeth. “Leave it.” He batted her hand away.

 

“Let me see it.” Her voice was firm, maternal. A hand snaked out, and was slapped away for a second time. “John…” there was a warning in her tone, and he conceded, dropping his hands to his sides. She sucked air through her teeth.

 

“That bad, huh?” he smiled his cocksure smile, punch drunk.

 

She was calling Danse over. “I’m going to need your help with him since I’ve only got one hand here.”

 

The Paladin lumbered over, Hancock’s pack in tow. “What do you need?”

 

“I could use some Jet if ya got any, big man.” He was clicking his tongue at the soldier, making guns with his fingers.

 

“I need you to pull out the Med-X and whatever we have in the way of Stimpaks. They should be in that pocket there.” A shaking finger was prodding at an exterior pocket.

 

“I regret to inform you, but there’s nothing in here.” His hands went to either side of the helmet, and he pulled it off, sweat pouring off of his face. “That’s much better.” He set the helmet aside, rifling through the rest of the pack.

 

Hancock made a face. “Blech. Just… ew.”

 

“Look who’s talking.” His brow was furrowed in annoyance at the Ghoul.

 

“It’s probably in one of his pockets-” She reached into one of the deep, outer pockets, feeling raised lettering of the Mentats tin. “That’s not it.” With effort, she turned her body, reaching in the opposite pocket. Her fingers picked past the cigarettes and flip lighter, landing on something else. Something foreign. _What’s this?_ She slid the silver chain from his pocket, her heart in her throat. A withered hand closed over hers gently, and his eyes were pleading.

 

“What is this?” her voice was hard.

 

“I meant to give it back to you-” his face twisted in pain as he tried to lean forward. “Gah!” his hands were on either side of his leg, squeezing through the pain.

 

She gripped his jaw in her good hand, staring him down. “How long have you been holding onto this?”

 

With great effort he swatted her hand away. “Since,” he faltered. “Since Greentop.”

 

Danse cut in, a heavily gloved hand shoving the various injectables into her field of vision.

 

The sole survivor snatched the drugs from his hand, dropping all but the Med-X syringe and savagely ripping the cap off with her teeth.

 

“Nora, please. I can explain-” She practically punched the needle into his good leg, emptying the entirety of the contents into his irradiated bloodstream. He was swimming, the wave pulling him under, his words slurred. “I can…” And he was out cold.

 

A deep anger welled in her chest, masking her grief at the betrayal. She wiped at her eyes furiously, stopping only to slip the silver chain around her neck. Stabbing various points of Hancock’s burn with the Stimpak, she ground her teeth. Danse’s hand was on her shoulder.

 

“Everything alright? You seem upset.” There was a strange warmth in his dark eyes, but she shrugged his hand off.

 

“I’m fine. Just need your help.” Her hands were at her belt, Danse’s eyes wide in surprise. She shot him an annoyed glance, pumping her wounded arm like a chicken wing. “A sling. I need you to help me fasten it.”

 

Clumsy armored fingers cinched the belt awkwardly around her arm and opposite shoulder, her teeth meeting her lip through the pain. She almost regretted giving the Ghoul the last of the Med-X. _Almost._

 

The tin man had lumbered off in search of the deep range transmitter while she caught her breath. The Mayor would be out cold for some time, and she sighed with relief. _Just when you think you can’t hurt any more, huh girly?_ The vault dweller’s forehead rested on her knees as she breathed deeply through her nose, then out her mouth. _Fuck you, Kellogg._ She forced the pain down deep, waiting for the Paladin to return so they could move on.

 

One eye peaked through the curtain of hair cascading over her eyes to study the Ghoul. _We’re done, John Hancock._ The escape plan was taking shape in her brain as Danse returned, transmitter in tow.

 

“Looks like those filth were after the same thing.” There was a triumphant grin on his face.

 

“So Paladin, what does it take to become a member of the Brotherhood?” Steel eyes met his gaze from the floor.

 

The question took him by surprise. He wasn’t expecting _her_ to ask _him_. “Well civilian, I was going to wait until we were topside,” he paused, looking her over. “I believe we have two important matters to discuss.” He offered the widow a hand to help her up.

 

“First and foremost, I’d like to compensate you for your assistance during this operation.” He was holding out the laser rifle, meeting her confused look with a smile. “I think you’ll find this weapon useful. It’s my own personal modification of the standard Brotherhood laser rifle.”

 

Nora accepted the gun with her good hand, testing the weight. “May it serve you well in battle. Er- when both of your arms are working.”

 

“Don’t you need to keep it?” She raised a quizzical brow, laying the rifle as carefully as she could on the table in front of her.

 

“This isn’t the only weapon at my disposal. Brotherhood soldiers always carry a backup.” The smiles came easily to his face whenever he talked about Brotherhood business. “Now… as far as the second matter goes, I wanted to make you a proposal.” His hands were on his hips like some kind of recruitment poster. “We had a lot thrown at us back there. Our op could have ended in disaster, but you kept your cool and handled it like a soldier. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’ve got what it takes.” He was resting a hand on her shoulder again, his brown eyes intense. “Will you make your mark on the world? Will you join the Brotherhood of Steel?”

 

Nora stole a glance at her unconscious companion, the pain of grief threatening to overtake her. _Hurts too much. Got to get away._ “Yes.” She turned back to the soldier, eyes blazing. “I will join the Brotherhood of Steel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHHHHH SHIIIIIIIT SON, 2 UPDATES IN ONE DAY!
> 
> On a roll here. I like where things are going. I hope you do too ;)
> 
> Coming up: How do you get away from the Mayor of Goodneighbor? Hop on a floating airship of course!
> 
> DUN DUN DUN....


	25. Descending into Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where she works with Danse to find a lost patrol.

**Chapter 25: Descending into Madness**

 

Looking at her reflection in the mirror, Nora was reminded of makeover shows on television before the bombs dropped. _“New hair, new you!”_ The audience would chant with the announcer as they ushered the day’s dowdy looking housewife to the stage, sometimes in curlers. Her hair was similar to the first wasteland cut: the bottom shaved, the top longer. It now cleanly faded top to bottom, a modest layer on top, but the length was much shorter and no longer covered her eyes. She sighed, catching the glint of gold around her neck. The temptation to stop wearing the necklace had become more frequent- it reminded her less of Nate and more of a certain Mayor-turned-Ghoul.

 

Irritated, a fist closed around it and she stuffed it under the white and orange flight suit. _“You know if you were lookin’ to get bossed around more, you could’ve just asked. Didn’t have to jump in the with Brotherhood.”_ They’d been the last words Hancock had spoken to her, a look of pure disgust on his waxy features. Paladin Danse had called in a favor, and the trio had been airlifted from ArcJet to just outside of Goodneighbor. The goal had been to leave the Ghoul with his people before he came to, but it hadn’t worked out quite that well.

 

The pilot had tried to complain about hostile airspace, but Nora had shown a ferocity reserved for a select few. _That list has certainly grown since arriving here._ She ran a hand through the shorter red tresses with a sigh, pushing herself away from the mirror in disgust. The image of Hancock’s face taking in the sight of her as the vertibird had lifted back into the sky was burned into her eyelids and she hated herself just a little bit more for feeling guilty about it.

 

Exiting the restroom, she looked around for her new partner who was no doubt lumbering around nearby. Nora and Danse had spent the last few weeks running errands for the Brotherhood, and it was beginning to weigh on her. They continued to dangle the power armor like a carrot, and she was tired of biting.

 

“Paladin Danse.” She stood at attention behind him, the power armor making her small in comparison.

 

“Initiate.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice.

 

“Reporting for duty, sir.” The salute was clumsy but close enough. If the Brotherhood had done nothing else, it had increased her self-loathing. She found her mind drifting backwards, to conversations with Nate about military programming and protocols. Sometimes they’d turned into arguments and accusations.

 

_“Would you ignore your moral compass based on orders?”_

 

_Nate had glared daggers at her, his arms thrown into the air. “What do you want from me, huh? I keep our family safe. I keep us fed, Nora. Do you want to turn into those people on the news? Is that it? Do you think so little of me?”_

 

She shook the memory from her head, following the Paladin to the prepped vertibird. They had spent the last week searching for the remnants of a lost patrol and adding up clues. By this point, she seriously doubted that any of the members remained alive but solving the mystery was the latest carrot Elder Maxson had dangled, and she was going to jump for it in spite of her reservations. There was something frightening about the Elder, a wild look his eyes got whenever he opened his bearded face to unload the steaming piles of bigotry. The sole survivor winced at the thought, pulling herself aboard the aircraft after the Paladin.

 

She took a seat behind the minigun, checking the sights and gripping the handles. It was a surreal experience becoming a post-apocalyptic soldier. It was a job she had never wanted. Nora had watched Nate have nightmares about the war, often holding him and whispering gentle words in his ears to put him back to sleep. _I don’t need any more nightmare fuel._ She sighed, Kellogg’s voice answering. _You don’t have a choice, sweetheart._

 

It was going to be a log day. A hand felt at the cargo pocket against her knee and she smiled blandly in relief. The chems would get her through it. They hadn’t let her down so far.

 

***

The pilot set the aircraft down half a mile from their intended destination and Danse was reiterating the bullet points of their mission.

 

“This area is known Supermutant territory. There are multiple satellite arrays, meaning multiple fortified locations. They’re going to have the upper hand, there’s no getting past it.”

 

The vault dweller’s eyes were already glazed over, the Mentats under her tongue dissolving at a snail’s pace. She focused her senses on their surroundings, her vision sharp. “So I’ll use my rifle to pick them off while you get up close and personal.”

 

“Not the way I would have put it, but essentially yes.” He side-eyed her, thinking she wouldn’t notice. “Everything alright Initiate?” he observed the deep red coloring her mouth but said nothing. The Brotherhood didn’t necessarily frown upon chem use, so long as it benefitted their win-at-all-costs mentality.

 

“Swell, Boss.” Her eyes were focused on the horizon, far away. The duo could just make out the satellite towers in the distance, more details coming into focus the closer they got.

“Looks like we’ve got some explosive vehicles to take advantage of. There’s also a bit of brush cover directly out front. I suggest you aim to work from there.” He was gesturing with heavy arms.

 

“You got it, Cap’n.” Another half-assed salute.

 

“It’s Paladin. And I don’t think I like your attitude today, Initiate.” He lowered his gaze, somewhat alarmed at the intensity of her eyes. The soldier cleared his throat. “But I guess we all have our days.”

 

Nora busied her hands checking at the straps on her armor. It irritated her to no end that she’d had to purchase the pieces from Proctor Teagan. A military that made the soldiers buy their own weapons and armor, but gave away power armor like it was going out of style? It seemed absurd, but she’d had nary a leg to stand on.

 

“You ready, Initiate?” The laser rifle was clutched in both hands, and he was staring down at her.

 

“Ready to get this over with.” She muttered darkly, giving him a thumbs-up instead.

 

Raising the sight to her eye, she scouted the terrain first. There were no less than five supermutants pacing the upper levels of the arrays, and several more on the ground. The vantage point was weak: the trailers front and center blocked her view of anything at the ground level. Danse hovered next to her as she rattled off the details of her observation.

 

“Safeties off. We’re going live.” Her armored companion was sprinting to the side, lining up the shot. He planned to draw them out with laser fire while she discretely set off the rig permanently parked out front. The sole survivor waited until at least two of the mutants had dropped, unloading several rounds into the engine of the weathered vehicle.

 

“Come on, you fucks.” She could feel the jet inhalers in the pocket at her knee and smiled. “I’m ready for ya.”

 

As if on cue, an armored green monster plodded out from the gates, his deep-set eyes scanning for the threat. She moved the dot in the sight to his leg, pulling the trigger. There was a sickening wet sound as his leg crumpled beneath him with a guttural cry.

 

“That’s it. Call your friends over…” To her disappointment, a mutant hound bounded out of the entrance, furiously sniffing at the air. A .45mm bullet hit it square between the eyes as it trumpeted a warning call. Flames licked out from under the rusted hood, and she felt the pang of anxiety. _We need to take out more than one with that explosion._ Her wish hadn’t fallen on deaf ears. Two more patrols lumbered forward, as the front of the semi exploded into a white-hot cloud. Supermutant chunks sprayed forth and rained back to the earth, the brilliance of the explosion burned into her retinas.

 

Red streaks zipped through the brightness of the morning, the Paladin felling several more like a laser-wielding lumberjack. She knew she should feel something. _Pride? Triumph?_ But she felt nothing as her boots moved in on the mutant base to clear the walkways.

 

***

The beeping radio signal sped up as the pair climbed one of the closer array towers. “We must be close.” _“Thanks Captain Obvious_ ” the Ghoul’s voice echoed through her head to her great annoyance. She cuffed her ear against her shoulder, willing his voice from her head. _You just can’t make up that mind of yours, can you sweetheart? Can’t say I understand your dilemma._ She ground her teeth until her jaw was sore, mentally cursing the voice in her head.

 

The soldiers picked their way up the mutants’ slapdash wooden staircase, Nora taking point. She held out a hand, giving the Paladin pause. “You stay there. Not enough room inside.” It was a half-truth. She’d seen the body and for no good reason felt the baser need to spare him the sight. The shack itself was tiny, the Scribe’s body hugging the left hand wall. The man’s possessions had been arranged around him neatly, and the sole survivor worked meticulously to gather everything, gently snapping the chain holding the dog tags from around his neck.

 

She reappeared in the doorway holding the tags out wordlessly to Danse. There was pain in his eyes, his head dropping with a faint nod. “If its any consolation, I don’t think the supermutants had anything to do with his death.” The cold, matter of fact tone in her voice had become less foreign. Deep down it scared her, but those thoughts were sealed in a vault and locked up tight. _You don’t need to feel, you just need to DO._ The widow had begun to convince herself that her feelings were to blame for the seemingly endless chain of delays keeping her from her son. An armored hand pushed the tags back towards her, and she stuffed them in a pocket.

 

Her fingers were absently tapping the cargo pocket, the empty haze of the Med-X cloud calling to her. _Not yet. Later. Debrief first._

 

Danse had already pulled the pin from the signal grenade as the pair waded through the debris to stand near the rendezvous point. He took that time to make an attempt at a pep talk. “Good work today, Initiate. I am proud to call you Brotherhood material.” He was clapping her on the shoulder in military fashion, and she grimaced.

 

“We should probably listen to his holotape, Sir.” The white and orange cassette was already loaded into the Pip-Boy, and she was accessing it with the various buttons and dials.

 

The man’s voice on the tape was strained. “This is Faris. It’s been two hours since the Paladin left, but my leg.” He was grunting, obviously in pain. “I can’t staunch the bleeding. The bullet must’ve hit an artery.” Another grunt. “Brandis if you get this I hope you made it back to Aslin in time. There’s… nothing you could do for me. Get to the bunker up north. You will survive. That’s all that matters.” With a final painful noise the tape cut out, a pair of brown eyes meeting hers.

 

“I know the location of that bunker. Are you prepared to investigate?” What he was really asking was “Do you need more supplies, or can we just get on with the mission?”

 

Nora nodded the affirmative. “Yes sir. Plenty of ammunition left.” A gloved hand was patting at the leather compartments on her belt. Both pairs of eyes turned skyward to the approaching craft.

 

“Looks like our ride is here.” He was grinning like an idiot. _Oh, god. He thinks he’s witty with this shit._ Her eyes rolled reflexively, and they approached the vertibird, Danse booming the destination to the pilot. There was a thumbs-up exchanged and the plane lurched upwards, making her stomach somersault.

 

_“That was an awful thing that happened, but none of that was your fault.” He’d held her hands, looking into her eyes. “Don’t let all of the good you done fall by the wayside. People out there, they need someone like you.”_

 

Nora blinked angrily trying to force the memory out. _Was he even sincere?_ Kellogg was there to rectify. _Man, you got some serious denial issues, doll. You know how to read people. Or did you forget about that? I gotta ask- just what the fuck are you doing here?_

 

She was wiggling her fingers in both ear canals, muttering for him to “shut the fuck up” under her breath. The whine of the engines covered any trace of her madness and for that she was grateful. The vault dweller longed for her bunk and the dreamless sleep that just the right dose of Med-X provided. She wanted to forget, to drift away.

 

***

The vertibird was again touching down a good distance from their target destination. She wasn’t looking forward to trekking along with the Paladin- he’d begun to grate on her nerves- but this was potentially their last stop. _The last step to BOS issue T-60 power armor, fully reinforced._ She remembered the conversation she’d had with Proctor Ingram.

 

_“Ever test just how rad-proof the suits are?” It had come up casually as the head engineer showed her basic maintenance procedures._

_“Sweetie, these babies were designed with radiation in mind. Couldn’t convince me otherwise. Plenty of our Knights have withstood the aftermath of mini-nukes from those giant green bastards out there.” The Proctor’s thirst for the front lines had been obvious in that moment. Her fists clenched, and there was a wild spark in her eyes. “They don’t seem to be affected by these nasty rad storms we got out here in the Commonwealth either.”_

 

It was the lightest her heart had felt in ages, only to have her request for armor denied once again. This was the beginning of their search for the lost Brotherhood patrol. A sigh escaped the dryness of her lips, her attention focused ahead of them. Two raiders stood in the narrow gully, guns drawn, but holding their fire. A woman’s voice was greeting them.

 

“Not another step.” The sing-song tone of her voice was much more annoying than it was threatening. “We’ll let you through… for 500 caps.”

 

Nora’s patience had worn thin. “Out of my way.” Her voice was low, dangerous.

 

“Your funeral.” The red of the laser beam danced over her shoulder, hitting the raider square in the chest and knocking her over.

 

“Oh shit!” The remaining fiend’s eyes were saucers as the Paladin’s armored form stepped out of the fog. The figured was turning to run, the movement cut short as the .44 ripped through her arm. The raider screamed in pain, dropping to the ground and clutching the bloody mess. “Please…”

 

“Should’ve stayed out of my way.” The marauder’s lifeless body slumped the rest of the way to the ground, her filthy forehead a crater. The vault dweller couldn’t feel the blood spray coating the front of her uniform any more than she could feel remorse for mowing the woman down. She had embraced the numbness, holstering the weapon at her thigh.

 

“Good work, soldier. Another victory for the Brotherhood.” He lumbered forward taking point.

 

“Yeah. Victory.” Her hands tugged at the armor straps again, fidgety.

 

“Watch it!” there was a warning in Danse’s tone. “Looks like the Paladin set up some defenses.” He nodded towards the mine at his feet. “Stand back. I’ll take care of this.”

 

She backed away, watching the red beams bounce and set of the explosion, several of the frag mine explosions daisy chaining. The blasts continued to glow in front of her, but she pressed forward, digging her palms into her eyes.

 

“There is it, just up ahead.” The widow could read the apprehension on his face. _Was the Paladin still alive in there?_ “Get the terminal. I’ll cover you.”

 

Her fingers danced over the keys, inputting the recon bunker access code. _Nice not having to hack this thing._ She scanned the text on screen, releasing the security lock on the reinforced door. It swung open with a metallic groan, and Danse moved past her, weapon at the ready.

 

Paladin Brandis was a wiry wisp of a man, a length of gray and white hair hanging limply from his head. The state of his beard told her that he’d been stuck in the bunker for an extended length of time, the animalistic fear in his eyes confirming it.

 

“Paladin?” Her voice was gentle as she tiptoed her way towards him, hands out and away from any weapons.

 

“Stay back. One more step and I’ll- I’ll blow your damn head off!” “Who are you? Who sent you? How did you get in here?” His paranoia was palpable.

 

She kept her tone level, walking closer. “We followed the distress beacons left by your team. Their holotapes lead us here.”

 

He was distracted at the thought. “The others! What, uh, what happened to them?” He shook an imaginary itch from his shoulder, the blue of his eyes searching the Initiate’s face.

 

Nora’s face was soft. “They’re dead, Paladin.” She paused, removing the clinking chains from a side pocket. “I recovered their tags for you.”

 

“You…did? Thank you. This… really means a lot to me.” He accepted them gracefully, a fist tightening around the chains. His attention turned to Danse, as if noticing him for the first time. “I tried to go back for them, you know. There was nothing I could do. Not alone. But… I had hoped…”

 

The metal soldier stepped forward, placing a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “It’s alright. You followed protocol, kept yourself and Brotherhood secrets safe.”

 

Brandis’ hand was on his chin as he considered something. “You’ve been through a lot to find me. I should… give you something. I’ve collected a lot over the years. You see anything you want, take it.” A calloused hand gestured around the room.

 

Danse cleared his throat. “The Brotherhood needs you, Paladin. Its time you reported in.”

 

The anxiety had returned to his face, every wrinkle magnified with worry. “I can’t- Its been too long. I…I wouldn’t be of any use.”

 

Her partner continued, unswayed. “No one knows the Commonwealth better than you. We need your help.”

 

Brandis stared at the floor, his feet fidgeting with a loose stone. “I’ve been here too long. I’m not- not myself.” A smaller voice, “Would they still take me?”

 

The dark-eyed Paladin’s voice was booming. “The Brotherhood will honor the memory of your team. Shouldn’t you be the one to tell their story?” His eyes were surprisingly piercing, and Nora was moved by his determination.

 

“Unless I go back, their scarifices- everything we went through- it’ll be forgotten. I…I can’t let that happen. I’ll do it. For them.” The aged Paladin bowed his head, acquiescing. “I’ll get my things together.”

 

He turned to Nora. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.” He shook the tags in his fist, turning to busy himself with packing.

 

“Initiate- I want to thank you for the care you took on this mission. I-” he was tripping over the words. “Couldn’t have done it without you.” A hand ran over the back of his head, smoothing his hair. In that moment, the sincerity on his face, the dark hair, brown eyes- It was like looking at a ghost. _Nate._ A wave of grief swept over her, but she swallowed the lump in her throat, cuffing the arm of his suit.

 

“All in a day’s work, Sir.” She quickly excused herself, heading for the door and mumbling something about getting away from the stale air.

***

Elder Maxon’s face housed a generous smile, but Nora’s gut was telling her _tit for tat- nobody gets anything for free._ The people who believed whole-heartedly that they were doing the right thing, _saving humanity from itself_ were people to be feared.

 

“It’s clear from Paladin Danse’s report that you understand our core values. He feels you’ve become quite an asset to us.” The Elder was pacing, his giagantic form a silhouette in front of the massive windows of the airship. “Seeing as he’s one of my most respected field officers, you couldn’t get a better recommendation.” He paused dramatically, a broad finger to his chin. “Therefore, from this moment forward I am granting you the rank of Knight. And, befitting your title, we’re giving you a suit of power armor to protect you in the field of battle.” He eyed her, watching her response. “Wear it with pride.”

 

Nora smeared her most convincing smile across her face, meeting his dark eyes. “I’ll do my best to live up to it.”

 

He nodded knowingly. “I’m certain that you will.” He crossed the space hovering over her. “In any event, tomorrow morning I expect you to collect your armor, and report to the flight deck for your new orders at O-700. Make us proud, soldier.” He crossed an arm over his chest.

 

“Ad Victorium, Elder.” She added, miming his movement, her head bowed. She turned, heading for the center of the ship breathing a sigh of relief.

 

The gears were turning in her head. The sole survivor needed a reason to venture into the Glowing Sea. _Patience, girly. It’ll come to you._ She was inclined to agree with the murdering son of a bitch, nodding quietly to herself.

 

 _I’m coming Shaun. Hold on just a little longer._ Her heart ached, but she stomped it down.  _Nothing’s going to stop me this time._  The Med-X rolled into her, gently lulling her to the dreamless sleep she'd pined for all day. The last thought floating around the abyss was of the deep, penetrating loneliness she felt.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy to be back, friends. Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Coming up: What's that old Ghoul Mayor up to? Nora's vacation in the glowing sea.


	26. In(your)stead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where we find out what a certain Ghoul Mayor has gotten up to.

Chapter 26: In(your)stead

 

Hancock couldn’t shake the look in the vault dweller’s eyes as she rose above the Commonwealth from his mind, no matter how hard he tried. The vertibird engines would have drowned out anything he might have said, shouted or screamed at her. Instead the Mayor had retreated to the State House to rage, Fahrenheit standing by to stop him when he tried to take it too far. The last time he’d felt this on fire, it had ended with the former mayor of Goodneighbor hanging from the end of a rope.

 

The mayor had eventually worn himself out, like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum. His limber form collapsed onto the couch, and he remembered reaching for the chems littering the table… the rest was shrouded in darkness. When he finally came to, Fahrenheit’s expression told him more than words could express. It had been one hell of a bender. Coal eyes scanned the room, noting the chaos and disorder. The empty chem containers littering every surface. Holes in the walls. He was suddenly acutely aware of the pain blossoming at his forehead and pressed at the goose egg with ginger fingers.

 

“Anybody see the brand on the Brahmin that stamped my head last night?” the Ghoul was pressing his palms into his eyes and rubbing slow circles, squinting at the sunlight filtering through the window slats.

 

“Try three days ago, Hancock.” His bodyguard was furious, her arms crossed defiantly over her chest. “What the hell was that about?” The deep purple at the corners of her eyes told him the woman had stayed awake most, if not all of those 36 hours.

 

He was trying to wave her away, but her eye merely twitched in response. His body froze, his gaze falling on one of the inhalers on the table. The one that was just a _little_ bit different than the others.

 

“Addictol, Fahrenheit?” She nodded, her face sobering. The anger left his eyes and he slumped back onto the couch, his face in his hands, wincing at the pain in his forehead. “What the fuck happened?”

 

The woman pushed herself from the wall, crossing the room to hover over him. “You did, Boss.” She paused, thoughtful. “Or rather _she_ did.”

 

The memory of her lifting into the air, whisked away on the Brotherhood vertibird sent new rage coursing through his irradiated veins, a fist solidly meeting the table.

 

_“Why? You owe me that much.” His eyes had been little more than slits._

_The paleness of her face was a mask, eyes taking in the details of the dirt under their feet. “You were supposed to be unconscious. I wanted to save you the trouble.”_

_“Bullshit. You wanted to save yourself. You’re a selfish woman, Nora, and a coward.” He took a step back, donning his dapper façade, and making sure to speak loud enough for The Paladin to hear. “You know if you were lookin’ to get bossed around more, you could’ve just asked. Didn’t have to jump in with the Brotherhood.” He’d turned on his heel, knowing that the redness in her cheeks would confirm the unspoken truth to the tin can. “Let her live it down, I got nothin’ to be ashamed of.”_

_He’d said it to himself, a cruel grin spreading across his melted features. Hancock had waited until he heard the whine of the engines to turn around, meeting her gaze from the ground. The widow’s splintered spirit had finally shattered, and he felt her pain fall through him like shards of glass._

 

***

The tricorn covered the knot in his forehead, and he sauntered down the stairs of the Third Rail, the smooth jazz notes of Magnolia drifting upwards. The Mayor had a lot on his mind, and after being stared down by his bodyguard, chems were off the table. _At least for now._  The Mr. handy-turned-bartended produced a worn, unlabeled bottle from beneath the bar, setting it next to an empty glass.

 

“Oi Boss, what’s the word ‘round town?” His robotic limbs were snaking around, wiping down the counter and drying the mostly clean glassware.

 

Hancock waved him away. “Not in the mood for chit chat, Chuck.”

 

“Point taken, Mayor.” He had already hovered away, harassing locals to buy more beer.

 

The Ghoul nursed the amber liquid, the pain in his head and hand reduced to a dull ache. He thought about Fahrenheit’s description of the past three days. It was the ending that had left him literally and figuratively sober. He had been practically feral, waving the empty shotgun around like a bat. She’d used it to subdue him- thus the welt on his forehead, and forced the Addictol inhaler into his mouth fearing the Mayor was well on his way to an overdose. Before blacking out, he’d apparently mumbled something about one last trip, sending the bodyguard into panic mode.

 

_You fuckin’ asshole. These people rely on you. You can’t be doin’ this kind of shit. You’re not a McDonough anymore._

 

He tipped the glass to his lips, letting the slow burn slide from his throat to his chest. “I’ve been thinking small time here.” The words fell back to the bar, and he breathed a sigh. The muscles in his shoulders were pinching from stress and he assumed windmilling a shotgun around making holes in the walls. There were a million thoughts running through his rotten brain, and his fingers dug into the softness of the velvet searching for the Mentats. He came up empty handed, a low rumble escaping his chest. _She took my damn Mentats._ He dug in the opposite pocket, pulling the crumpled pack of cigarettes out and scrutinizing them. There was one intact smoke left, his nimble fingers tugging it carefully from the package. The flame danced before his eyes and he was reminded of the dingy basement and the vault dweller’s stubborn acceptance of his help. She had walled herself off from so much, but he’d managed to chip away at the stones starting ironically with sticking a needle in her arm.

 

 _“They killed my husband. They took my son.”_ He could still see the lines of sadness etched into her face as she confessed her demons. A line of ash fell from the burning tip of the cigarette and he inhaled forcefully, the smoke irritating his lungs. An image of an open can of water thrust his way was the most painful of the images trickling out of his memory safe. _“Not afraid of cooties, huh?”_ She had never shied from him. Never acted like he was anything less than human. _And now she’s running with the Brotherhood._ A frown burrowed its way into his face, and he stuffed the cork back into the sepia of the bottleneck. _And you- you’re the jackass that put the last nails in the coffin._

 

***

John could feel his bodyguard’s eyes burning into the back of his skull, but continued to shove various sundries into an olive drab pack.

 

“I think you’re making a big mistake, John.” Her arms were crossed unceremoniously over her chest again. “What about things happening here in Goodneighbor?”

 

“That’s what I got you here for. And Magnolia, and Chuck. Oh! And Ham. Don’t forget about Ham.” Fahrenheit’s eyes rolled skyward. “I’m serious.” He had finally turned his gaze on her, his eyes intense.

 

She sighed, rubbing her temples with one hand. “Not like I can tell you otherwise. Had to try though, didn’t I?” Her fiery hair shook as she jerked her head, staring at the grizzled hand on her shoulder.

 

“Hey, you can handle things around here while I’m gone. That’s what I pay you the big bucks for, right?” He flashed his teeth, shooting her a wink. Her face remained somber, but she patted his hand reassuringly.

 

“Not like I haven’t done it many times before, Boss.”

 

He slid his hand away, making for the door. Buckled boots stopped short and he glanced over his shoulder. “Thank you. For everything. I know this old bastard don’t say it enough, but you mean helluva lot to this town whether they know it or not.” He tapped the doorframe, disappearing down the spiral staircase and out the door below.

 

Fahrenheit watched him leave in disbelief. _What happened on that walk, Hancock?_

 

***

It had taken John three days to make it to Sanctuary, his heart heavier with each step. He stopped at the gate, pulling the brown leather from his pack, a finger absently caressing the brim. The General had ripped it from her head, forcefully pitching it to the ground as she and the tin can marched out the doors of Goodneighbor. He’d only leaned down to retrieve it once the whine of the engines had disappeared into the night.

 

Preston was at eye level, looking him over with a furrowed brow, his eyes resting on the hat in his withered hands. “Mayor Hancock. “ His eyes darted around, looking for her. “Where is the General?”

 

He forked the hat over with a deep breath. “Right in front of me.” His eyes were hard as he watched the Minuteman’s face fall. “She’s not dead or anything, mind you.”

 

Preston was glaring at the Ghoul. “If you think this is funny-”

 

Hancock’s hands were in the air in front of him. “No. Not here to joke.” He was rubbing the back of his neck, trying to find the words. “She followed that power armored freak, joined up with the Brotherhood.”

 

Preston’s head dropped, the dark curls catching the last rays of sunlight on the horizon. He held the hat to his heart, letting a sigh escape the fullness of his lips. “I can’t believe it. The _Brotherhood_?”

 

The Ghoul was nodding, his face grave. “Look, I put some of the blame on myself, but I figured you deserved to know.” He paused, choosing the words carefully. “I know we ain’t real fond of one another, but I think what you’re doin’ here- it’s a damn fine thing.” With that, his back was to the interim General, coattails flapping behind him.

 

The Minuteman gripped his chin, studying the retreating Ghoul. “Alright, Hancock.” His voice boomed into the distance. “I got a job for you-something a little different. Place called the Slog.” The frock coat swept to a halt and John was staring down the little road. Preston met his coal black eyes, compelled to share the rest. “It’s a unique settlement- all Ghouls. Seems they’ve been having trouble with supermutants.”

 

John eyed him warily, unsure how to take the request. “This because I’m a Ghoul or because I’m the _only_ Ghoul for the job?” His non-existent eyebrows danced in the tungsten of the streetlamps.

 

“I’m gonna level with you, Mayor. We got nobody else. The Minutemen need your help.” The expression on his shadowed face was sincere. “What do you say?”

 

“Consider me an independent contractor.” He lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke away from their conversation. “Point me in a direction.”

 

***

The Slog was just about dead North from Goodneighbor, across the river. John patted at the chest piece, trying to scratch an itch. The Ghoul had traded the red velvet for road leathers and armor, but the chestnut hide of the tricorn remained firmly in place on his wrinkled head. He felt the uncomfortable tug of sore muscles at the back of his legs, but pressed forward over the hill. He could see movement as the Ghouls milled around an old swimming pool. To his surprise, some of them were waist-deep in it.

 

He slipped through the gate with cat-like grace, approached by a Ghoul of some height. “Hey there.” Hancock gave a small wave, letting the pack drop to the ground behind him.

 

“Welcome to the Slog! We’re the only tarberry bog in the Commonwealth.” There was a warmth in the man’s voice despite its rasping quality. “So what do you think of the place?”

 

John was making a face. “The _Slog_? How’d you come up with that?”

 

“We didn’t, it was the caravan traders who started that. Working here’s like a slog through the mud. It’s tough going, and you’ll get dirty doing it but at the end of the day, it’s worth it.” There was something familiar about the Ghoul, but Hancock couldn’t place it.

 

“So I noticed your establishment caters to a certain…aesthetic.” Hancock gestured widely to the compound, then his own face.

 

“I used to live in Diamond City, until that rat bastard mayor threw me and all the other Ghouls out.”

 

The light switch clicked in John’s head. “Yeah, yeah I remember you.” He was gesticulating at his tall cohort. “Your name’s Wiseman. You used to tend the crops out there, right?”

 

Wiseman scrutinized him, his eyes falling on the tricorn. The Ghoul was at a loss. “I’m sorry, but I can’t say I recognize you, friend.”

 

“Wouldn’t expect you to these days. Had a smooth set of skin back then.” He busied himself lighting a cigarette.

 

There was a look of confusion on Wiseman’s towering face, like something was on the tip of his tongue, but not quite.

 

John started, “Name’s Hancock. Perhaps you’ve heard of me? _Mayor_ of Goodneighbor?” he tented a brow.

 

“Can you still be a Mayor if you’re not around?” amusement played in Wiseman’s eyes. _Let the little guy keep his secrets. We all have them._

 

“You’d be surprised at the minimal work involved in governing a town.” A few neat rings of smoke were being carried away on the breeze, as he continued to peacock. “Minutemen sent me. Anything I can do to help?”

 

“As a matter of fact, there is. We can’t sell tarberries without traders, and trade caravans need safe roads.” He raised a hand in the direction of the roads. “There’s a gang of supermutants that’s been preying on anyone who comes near their turf, including traders. It’d be a great help if you could take care of those brutes once and for all.”

 

Hancock tugged the brim of his hat down, an impish grin overtaking his face. “I’ll take care of those supermutants. Got my word on that.”

 

“Good. I didn’t know what we were going to do.” Under the stoic façade, there was fear and anxiety. The Mayor knew the feeling well. He understood the importance of keeping up appearances.

 

“Any idea where these bastards are holed up?” John’s eyes were narrowed.

 

“If you’ll follow me, we have a map of the trade routes inside.” Two onyx pairs of eyes fell on the ramshackle homestead, and Hancock was slinging the pack over his shoulder.

 

“Lead the way, Boss.”

 

***

 

John Hancock knew how to be sneaky. As a leader, he was all charisma, brashness and bravado. Fighting a horde of supermutants alone? Well, that called for stealth tactics. He tossed the frag mines to the ground, dusting them with a fine layer of dirt- just enough to cover the glow of the tiny orange lights. He’d nearly been spotted on three different occasions, freezing his body in various contortions until the mutants had returned to their posts. A hand was at his belt, checking the grenades. _Gotta make these count_.

 

The Ghoul held a personal stake in this mission. Helping a Diamond City Ghoul? No way he was going to turn that down. Deep down a part of him wondered if he would ever be able to settle that debt.

 

A storm was moving in, the winds beginning to pick up. Cracks of lightning lit up the sky, the ominous boom of thunder rolling across the landscape. _Now or never, John_. He eyed the hulking figures, waiting until several had huddled together to hurl the grenade at their oversized feet, ducking behind a tree. _3…2…1…_

 

“What’s tha-“ the monster didn’t get a chance to finish his thought as the explosion sent shrapnel through an eye socket. The others were similarly disposed of, a triumphant grin on the Mayor’s face. His eyes darted around the complex waiting for signs of movement. It took the mutants a long moment to work out the fact that they were under attack.

 

“No fair!” it might have been comical, had the barbarian not locked eyes with him. “Gonna smash your head in!” He swung the shotgun from his side with one hand, the other cradling the textured egg shape at his hip.

 

“You’re welcome to try.” He was muttering to himself, scanning the terrain. Another earth-wrenching explosion, and the mutant’s severed arm was gliding just past the brim of the tricorn. Hancock could swear it whistled as it twisted its way through the air.

 

The explosion had kicked up too much dust, and Hancock found himself at a disadvantage as the red beams sliced through the cloud towards the meager cover of the tree. He'd been counting on the rain, but thunder continued to rumble in the distance, the clouds building.

 

“Shit.” He dove between the beams, tucking and rolling to a stop behind rotted wood and tin roofing. The settlement had very little cover to speak of. Not a problem for thick supermutant hides, but dangerous bordering on deadly for humans and Ghouls. A hand snaked out to retrieve the hat, shoving it back on his head with gusto. “Brace yourselves, ya bastards…” He was muttering to himself, sneaking a peak around the sharp edges of the cover.

 

Red bolts danced past his face, and he ripped the grenade from his belt, hurling it blindly towards the lean-to. “Eat that, meatheads!” The smirk dropped from his face as a rough hand fisted the leather of his armor and he found himself careening through the air and into the middle of the hive. The impact was harsh, knocking the air from his lungs. His shotgun skittered away across the dirt, a weathered hand reaching for it in vain.

 

He rolled onto his back, a colossal foot on his chest. “Gonna stomp you dead!” There was pressure at his sternum, a grunt escaping him in tandem with the sickening crack. The beast was raising its foot, ready for round two. With remarkable speed, Hancock was jamming the sharp tip of the combat knife upwards, eliciting a startled roar from the supermutant  and knocking his assailant off balance. The knife slid from the heavily calloused foot easily, and the Ghoul struggled to his feet, every breath agonizing.

 

“You go around stomping on things, you better watch out for sharp objects.” He jeered through his teeth, shoving the knife into his boot. The monster was rolling to its feet as pink-streaked hands gripped the shotgun, the buckshot tearing through his face. He emptied the second round into the goliath, putting it down permanently.

 

“Fuck.” He wheezed, clutching at his chest and spitting up blood. _Don’t know when to quit, do ya?_ He teetered backwards, landing hard on his narrow backside with an “ _Oof_.”

 

Fingers grasped in a pocket, and he eyed the uncovered needle, the cap in his teeth. _This is gonna be real unpleasant, John._ A fist form around the Stimpak and he jammed it into his chest, aiming for the pain. A sick, painful gargle escaped his tortured mouth, the world around him fading to black as raindrops splashed against his blood-stained armor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty happy with the lone adventures of Mayor Hancock this chapter. I had several different ideas of what to do with him, but this seemed the most cannon. 
> 
> Also, in doing my research (aka watching youtube videos) I realized that Wiseman uses Hancock's character model. We'll just pretend he's taller ;)
> 
> If you are a tumblr buddy, please check out my little Ask section, where you can write me questions about the stories, characters, whatever. Feel free to use the "Sole Survivor Ask Meme" as a starting point. 
> 
> You can find my page at biggreenfeet DOT tumblr DOT com ;)


	27. One Good Deed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where the Brotherhood tries to requisition some crops.

**Chapter 27: One Good Deed**

 

The mundane missions were beginning to grate on the sole survivor’s already frayed nerves. It was like Maxson was inside her head, listening to her plotting. _He’s keeping me too busy to slip away._ He had directed the Knight to Proctor Teagan who was eagerly explaining the mission objective.

 

“We got a lot of mouths to feed, and I need someone to… _negotiate_ with some of the local farmers for half their yields.” He studied her face. “Think you can handle it?”

 

There was a sinking feeling in her stomach, but Nora’s face was a mask. “What am I supposed to do if they refuse?” A gloved hand was on her hip.

 

“We need those crops. I believe when you joined the Brotherhood, you agreed to do whatever was necessary, Knight.” His brows had knit themselves together.

 

Her head nodded slowly, everything around her devoid of color and vibrancy. The grey walls felt like they were closing in, entombing her. She chose her words carefully. “I’ll do what I can.”

 

“Great. I’ll be sure to let the Elder know. You’ll need to leave immediately.” He was grinning like a Cheshire cat, his fingers tented.

 

Danse waited patiently behind her. “Ready to suit up?” His voice betrayed his excitement at getting back out.

 

Her smile was secretive. _Soon._ “I need to put some things together, but yes.” The rucksack had been packed since she’d moved herself onto the Prydwen, and she was relieved that her promotion to a Knight had come with a room with a door. _And a lock_. She depressed the plunger into her thigh, welcoming the numbing sensation and general sweeping away of emotions. It was getting harder to ignore the pull of the purple haze, but the concern had been swept into the cloud leaving her mind free for other processes. Grey eyes surveyed the rucksack. Her pack was almost overstuffed, though she knew the burden would lessen significantly once the suit enveloped her. The syringe rolled between a thumb and forefinger as the cap clicked into place. She slid the Med-X into a leather belt pocket, securing the snap.

 

Several Mentats rested comfortably under her tongue as she sidled up to Bay 3, admiring the power armor. It had taken a good amount of work to earn the servo-assisted suit, and she felt a small glimmer of pride at the sustained level of determination it had taken.

 

“Our pilot has the vertibird primed.” Danse was hovering over her shoulder as she pounded the fusion core into the armor. She gripped the wheel on the back, hefting it to the left and listening to the satisfying hiss. One booted foot followed the other, and the suit closed around her like a full-body hug. The display screen blazed to life, identical to that of her Pip-Boy.

 

“Let’s get moving then, Paladin.” A small wave of relief washed over her with the knowledge that her face was hidden behind the metallic lenses of the helmet.

 

***

The drop point had been chosen strategically. There was thick mud everywhere and she was sure without power their suits would have gotten stuck. She could feel the strain of the hydraulics as they marched across the ochre-colored scenery. The weather had turned, rain pelting violently against their helmets. Nora found herself thankful for the warmth and protection against the elements. She felt the chill of the drops in a distant memory. A wrinkled hand at her cheek. A rasping voice calling to her from a distance. The sole survivor frowned deeply, an armored hand balling into a fist. _Focus, Nora._

 

Danse had instructed her to take point saying something about her instincts being good- she hadn’t really heard him through the static in her brain. It didn’t matter- _did anything though?_ A comfortable-looking homestead crawled into view, and she took note of the swimming pool, more memories trying to surface through the gentle waves of Med-X. _We used to swim recreationally_. A bitter chuckle escaped her mouth, and Danse’s helmet turned, his eyes resting on her.

 

“Knight?” He seemed concerned.

 

“Just thinking about the past, Danse.” Her eyes combed the compound, making a startling realization. _They’re all Ghouls_. Her stomach dropped, anxiety gripping at her chest. The Brotherhood’s view being what it was would make it very difficult to negotiate with them.

 

Danse’s voice boomed next to her, parroting her observation. “This settlement’s nothing but a bunch of filthy Ghouls.” She could practically hear him making a face inside the helmet.

 

Nora turned on him, a righteous rage breaking through the purple haze. “Those _people_ down there deserve the same chance to negotiate as any other settlement.” She stood nearly as tall as the Paladin in her power armor, glaring uselessly through her helmet at him.

 

His voice betrayed his amusement. “I supposed we can try your way first.”

 

Her hands worked the helmet from her head with force, the rain turning her hair a deep red. “I’m not going to hurt these people, Danse. I refuse.” Her voice was determined, eyes glassy. Thunder rolled over the distant hills, the wind beginning to pick up. “If you will agree to stay here, I will talk to them. You know how convincing I can be.” Her eyes were hard.

 

“Show me what you can do, Knight.” His voice was lighter, and she felt a faint sense of relief as she tugged the helmet over her wet hair.

 

“Yes sir.” She responded dully, the weight of the world shifting back to her shoulders. _This certainly complicates things._

 

***

“I decided we Ghouls should have a place where we could feel welcome, and that’s mainly why I started up this farm.” Wiseman sat across from the sole survivor, a bottle of Gwinnet stout cupped between his ruined hands. He looked at her thoughtfully. “What if this place could be more than just a refuge for Ghouls that aren’t welcome elsewhere? What if it could also be an example of what we can do when we put our minds to something and work together?”

 

The smile tugging at the corners of her mouth was warm, and she suddenly remembered how it felt to do right by people. _Help those who can’t help themselves_. It made her stomach turn to think about the target she’d be placing on their backs if she couldn’t negotiate a deal with the magnetic personality in front of her.

 

The soft rasping of his voice interrupted her thoughts. “We want this to be a place that everyone looks forward to visiting. With smiling faces, good bargains,” He grinned, “And great produce. Maybe we can make people take a second look, you know? Maybe then they’d see that we’re not monsters.” His gaze had fallen to the bottle, fingernails errantly picking at the faded label.

 

“Wiseman.” Her voice was gentle. “You need to know why the Brotherhood is here.”

 

“Look kid, I’m not stupid. I know you’re poking around about the crops.” He met her gaze, his eyes light. “We ain’t opposed to trading with the Brotherhood, but we can’t afford to give the goods away for free.”

 

She nodded slowly, elbows on her knees, hands cupping either side of her jaw. _Brotherhood’s bad news, Sister_. Her cheeks puffed, collecting the sigh and blowing it out forcefully. “It’s going to take some manipulating to make this work, Wiseman.” Her eyes fell on her empty power armor shell across the room.

 

He was nodding his scarred head, a wry smile gracing his lips. “I like you, kid. You’re alright.” He raised the bottle, tipping it towards her. “ _Salut_ , as they say.”

 

She mimicked the gesture. “ _Salut_.” For the first time in a long while, the sole survivor’s curtain of self loathing lifted, and her smile was genuine.

 

***

 

“I’m afraid the news isn’t great, Danse.” Her face was grave.

 

“Have they turned hostile?” His hands were on the laser rifle.

 

“No- nothing like that. It’s the crops. Everything is irradiated.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know how much the Brotherhood needed this.” The corners of her mouth were turned downward.

 

 

“Seems a little suspicious, don’t you think?” Nora could feel his eyes on her.

 

“I thought so too, until they brought me some of the tarberries. My Geiger counter started clicking like an angry typewriter!” She gestured to the helmet cradled in one arm. “Yanked this on my head so fast, think I bruised it.” She rubbed at her crown for emphasis.

 

“That may be true, but I want to speak with them myself.” There was an authority to his tone.

 

“Understandable.” She forced the helmet over pale features, firing off a salute. “They mentioned something about toxic waste in the area before they settled it. Wouldn’t surprise me if someone had used that pool as a dumping ground.” She kept the conversation organic. “I warned them my superior would want to see for himself. They’re waiting for us.”

 

The Paladin’s helmet faced forward again, a hint of pride in his voice. “Good call, Knight.”

 

“Thank you Sir.” The pair moved in tandem, cradling their weapons in front of them

 

***

“Sorry for the mix up, Paladin. We thought everyone knew about our little irradiated paradise out here.” 

 

The three of them were standing in the main room of the Ghoul’s shelter to stay out of the rain as Wiseman fed his story to the Brotherhood soldier.

 

A female Ghoul entered the room with a bin of tarberries, setting them gently on the floor. As expected, the Geiger counters in their respective suits began ticking ominously.

 

“As you can see, Paladin, we got nothin’ against you smoothskins. You just can’t live here.” He paused, looking them over. “Unless you got a heavy supply of Rad-X.” He chuckled good-naturedly.

 

Danse’s exasperation was audible through the speaker. “I guess we’ll be heading for the next location.”

 

“Sorry to have wasted the Brotherhood’s time.” The Ghoul’s apology came off sincerely enough, and the Paladin was moving to exit the ramshackle domicile. Wiseman extended a hand to the vault dweller, feeling the glove tighten around his palm.

 

“Thank you.” Her helmet nodded at him, and she let his hand drop without comment. _You got quite a soft spot for those freaks, don’t ya’?_ Kellogg’s voice was taunting. _How long you think it’ll take them to figure out your little trick?_ There was a knot in her stomach.

 

Sounds of a scuffle outside drew their attention, and she held up a hand to Wiseman. “I’ll handle it. You stay here.” The armor rattled the walls of the house as she jogged forward, the knot tightening.

 

The tricorn sat at an odd angle on the Ghoul’s head, his teeth bared in anger at the sight of the Brotherhood soldier. The shotgun was aimed directly at Danse’s helmet, the laser rifle in a similar position.

 

“What’s the Brotherhood doing here? This is an independent settlement of the Commonwealth. You tin cans got no business with these Ghouls.” She could make out the lines of exhaustion on his face, making a mental note of his guarded posture and shallow breathing. _He’s hurt_.

 

She moved forward only to have him drop a hand to his boot, pulling forth the bloodied combat knife. “I don’t care if it’s two of you bastards against one, I’m not going down without a fight.” His eyes were savage, like a cornered animal. She bent down slowly, placing her rifle on the ground in front of her, trying to move between him and the Paladin, her hands in the air.

 

“What’re you doing, Knight?” Her overseer was irate.

 

“Protecting my commanding officer, sir.” Nora struggled to change her voice to no avail. Hancock’s eyes were slits, and he stabbed the knife back into his boot while lowering the double barrels.

 

“Shoulda figured it would be you hiding behind that scrap heap.” His spittle was red on the pavement, the rain washing it away. “I heard rumors about you tin cans moving in on settlements, stealing what ain’t yours from hardworking Commonwealth citizens.”

 

The water pouring over him further emphasized the sorry state he was in. There was a deep depression in his chest plate- something solid had impacted it. The Ghoul doubled over, coughing up red.

 

“Let’s just put this thing out of its misery.” She heard the slight humming of the laser rifle as it powered up.

 

She turned, holding her arms out as if to stop him. “No. Let’s just get out of here- leave these people in peace.” A pause. “The Brotherhood doesn’t want to start a war with Goodneighbor.”

 

“You really think those soulless heathens would make a dent in our arsenal?” The Paladin was aloof, lightning illuminating the metallic surfaces of the helmet.

 

Before she could answer, the Mayor was reaching for his shotgun with a snarl. Danse raised the humming rifle, squeezing the trigger. Time seemed to stand still as her head whipped around, gunmetal eyes wide with horror. The filthy plaid blur was in her periphery as the scarlet energy exploded from the end of the laser rifle. _No. NO!_ The sole survivor didn’t have time to blink it happened so fast. Wiseman’s body crumpled to the ground, the smell of burnt flesh rising past the drops of rain. The blackened hole in his chest was still smoking, John’s arms clasping at his shoulders.

 

“I remember you, John.” His body contracted in pain, his eyes dull. “You tried to-tried to save us- Diamond City.”

 

John’s fingers were shaking in pain and anger. “Guilty as charged, old man. Now you just hang in there, and I’ll tell you some stories.” He knew better, but he was searching his pockets anyway, coming up empty. Wiseman gripped his hand, giving it a hearty squeeze.

 

“You and I know better than that, McDonough.” The roughness of his hand slipped away, his body going slack. John was at a loss, shaking the Ghoul’s shoulders gently and calling his name into the grey.

 

Nora felt pure hatred fill her, drawing back a fist, and swinging it with all of her might. The plating at her digits cracked and splintered, leaving four knuckle-shaped dents in the Paladin’s helmet. A searing pain shot up her arm, but she ignored it, swinging the opposite fist. Danse caught it in a vice-like grip, crushing the plating around her wrist. The power armor frame underneath fractured, the fragments biting into the tender flesh below it.

 

“You sonofabitch- I’LL KILL YOU!” the roar inside the helmet was deafening as her commanding officer swung at her, still gripping her by her crippled wrist. She wrenched herself forcefully from his grip, narrowly avoiding the blow. The rage fueled her, drawing on every bit of frustration and pain she’d hidden away in the drug-fueled cloud. The unsteady cadence of her heartbeat filled her ears, blocking out the sounds of the outside world. She drew her knee to her torso, kicking at him with all of her might and catching him off guard. The biggest disadvantage to power armor was the inherent danger of being knocked over.

 

Danse’s arms windmilled futilely, his broad form shaking the ground with the impact. Her own T-60 suit crashed into him, and she was ripping at his helmet, frenzied, unaware of the repeating stream of “ _I’ll fucking kill you_ ” falling from her mouth. He was landing blows against her torso, grunting and howling. It was kill or be killed as the behemoths went at it, sparks flying as they crushed servos and damaged circuitry. The pain in her sides was becoming harder to ignore and she ripped and pounded at his helmeted head. With hiss signaling depressurization, the ruined metal rolled off of the soldier’s head, his brown eyes wide in terror. He blinked as raindrops splashed into his eyes.

 

 _Now you’re getting’ somewhere girly. Knock his fuckin’ head off!_ “Shut UP! Just shut up!” she was screaming and grabbing at her own head, tearing at the helmet and chucking it far from her. The rain soaked into her hair quickly, running down the neck of the armor. Danse used the distraction to his advantage, shoving one side of her with all of his might and sending her reeling. The ground reached up to meet her with hungry arms, stars dancing across her vision. The Brotherhood soldier made to roll to his feet, two black _O_ shapes meeting his face. Hancock’s face was calm, a fire behind his eyes.

 

“The way I see it, this is gonna end one of two ways. I’m bettin’ you’d like the version that allows you to keep that pretty head of yours.” Brown eyes darted to the dead Ghoul behind them, and back to the similar features at the butt of the shotgun.

 

“I’m listening, freak.” His brows were knit tight across his forehead in defiance.

 

“You’re going to leave. You’re gonna make sure the Brotherhood don’t come back. No repercussions for these fine citizens.” A hand pointed to the interior, where the group of Ghouls was huddled in fear. “You’re gonna make something up about what happened to _her_.” He gestured a hand towards Nora’s unconscious form without moving his eyes.

 

“Or what?” there was a smirk on his face.

 

“Or I’m gonna pump your face so fulla lead they’ll think it’s a fuckin’ helmet.” The smile on his face was crazed, dangerous. “Because Sister was right. You don’t want to start a war with me.”

 

Brown eyes fell on the unconscious form of the widow. “How do you know I’ll keep my end of the deal?”

 

“Because you care about what happens to her.” Danse opened his mouth to protest, his voice cut off by the rasping Mayor. “A trained Brotherhood tin can like you? You coulda killed her several times over in that fight, but you didn’t. Even though she can’t go back with you, you incapacitated her instead. That’s all the proof a heathen like me needs.”

 

Without another word, the Paladin turned away from the ghoul, snatching up his helmet, and lumbering away. His eyes had revealed all Hancock needed to know. The Ghoul waited until the hulking figure had retreated over the horizon to go to her, swallowing back blood and grief. Shaky hands worked the wheel at the back of the armor, and part of him was relieved she had landed in that position. The suit sprang open with an angry groaning, water running over the plates and frame and dropping onto the limp mass below.

 

Several extra pairs of hands joined him in working the sole survivor from the demolished suit, struggling the most with her mangled wrist. It took tools and steady hands to pry some the shattered frame apart, everyone involved getting soaked with rainwater. He’d essentially become boxed out, and found himself standing over Wiseman, the blackened hole boring itself into his head. The rain had slowed, aimless drops bouncing off of the ghoul’s taught skin. If they’d been in Goodneighbor- he shook his head. _Had to keep ‘em safe. Killing that meathead would’ve made this place a giant bull’s-eye._ The dead Ghoul’s face was peaceful, and John could almost make himself believe that Wiseman was sleeping in the rain. His death had cracked open an old wound, sending the Mayor’s mind reeling back to a time before Goodneighbor. He realized with a grimace that the Slog’s leader was dead because of him and he was suddenly thankful for the rain as saltwater drained from his coal black eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like the Wiseman character. I think it would be amazing if there was a DLC about pre-McDonough Diamond City or something. Probably won't happen, but you never know. I wrestled a lot with characterizing Danse. I know he doesn't like Ghouls, and he is definitely bigoted, but he isn't quite as hardened as Maxson. Anyway- just some thoughts.
> 
> Coming up next: Uh... great question. Hahaha. Good stuff, of course.


	28. THANK YOU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap it allows pictures!

 

 

Mushroom Cloud reached 5,000 hits today! Thank you guys SO MUCH for reading, commenting, Kudos-ing, and being such an amazing, supportive community. I couldn't do this without you! .


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